Silent Moments
by DoYouReallySeeMe
Summary: It's been nearly two years since Harry returned to Stonehaven, but now his pack – the one he's abandoned countless times in search of some form of normalcy in his uncontrollable life, needs his help. The only problem? Where to begin...
1. Part the First

**SILENT MOMENTS**

**Summary:** It's been nearly two years since Harry returned to Stonehaven, his pack's land in a little unknown town far away from the wizards who wanted nothing more than to flatter their saviour and coax him back to a world he didn't belong in but to. But now his pack – the one he's abandoned countless times in search of some form of normalcy in his uncontrollable life, needs his help. The only problem? Returning could mean facing far more than just the trespassing mutt causing trouble in their town or his packs hurt at his extended absence.

**Pairing:** Harry/Fenrir

**Warning:** Inspired heavily by Kelley Armstrong's _Bitten_ (seriously a fantastic book. Go. Read. Now). Characters behaviours _will_ differ from the book. Timeline and events have changed: Sirius is alive, Harry is a werewolf etc. Slash (meaning a male/male relationship). Maybe dark-slash? Angst. Drama. Definitely dark elements to the plot. Own Characters (OC's). Mature Scenes. Gay Sex. Sex (vanilla). Fingering. Voyeurism. Bondage. Blood-play. Semi-descriptive violence. Murder. Dominant/Submissive relationships. Werewolves. Pack dynamics. Mentions of descriptive transformation from human to wolf – non-violent. Mentions of Male-Pregnancy. Pregnancy. Possible non-consensual scene depending on how you look at it?

**Beta:** This story is currently un-BETA'ed, I apologise in advance for any grammatical mistakes and spelling mishaps, if anyone's interested in helping me out feel free to PM me. Thank-you.

**Declaimer:** I hold no rights over J. K. Rowling's series _Harry Potter_ or Kelley Armstrong's novel _Bitten_. I claim only my plot and the situations I have placed characters from both the for-mentioned authors and books. I claim no rights to money or fame from writing this story; I purely claim enjoyment from doing so.

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_All of us are God's creatures... just some are more creature than others.  
_–Quote by, Unknown.

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_Chapter One; Part the First._

Getting to Stonehaven wasn't easy. It was in remote upstate New York near a small town called Evergreen Valley, where the legislation laws on those affected with lycanthropy were much more lenient and the pack had been granted a large plot of land far too vast for just them. Though, having the savoir of the wizarding world as a part of their pack may have just helped somewhat for their reintegration into _The New World_ – as the wizards had dubbed it. He sighed. To Harry, who had spent the bulk of his time travelling and living amongst the wizards and away from his pack, he couldn't find anything all that different in this _new world_ that changed it from the old. It was rather disappointing to think he'd died to defeat the greatest evil of their time, but that the problems of wizarding society still remained; given a few years a new Dark Lord would eventually rise with the same hopes of bettering their world, but with the same wrong methods that would ultimately get him killed. Like his predecessor.

He just hoped the wizards didn't place their fate on the braking shoulders of a child, again.

Looking out the cab window Harry looked up at the night's sky and watched as the star constellations shone down on him with varying degrees of twinkling and brightness. The moon was hidden behind heavy rain clouds tonight, her missing glow casting the world into the shadows of children's nightmares. Harry grinned; he'd always preferred the night anyway, even when he was younger. He thought perhaps that having survived his tortuous childhood growing up in the small cupboard under the Dursely's stairs may have influenced his preference for the dark. However, he found he didn't much care to think of his once-relatives anymore. He sighed, turning to look out at his surrounding scenery instead. He noted North Syracuse glowing somewhere to the south, but the cab turned north once it reached highway 81 and the lights faded fast before vanishing into the night. A dozen miles later the driver turned off the highway and the darkness was complete.

In the quiet of the country night, Harry allowed himself to relax back into the old leather car seat. Werewolves weren't meant for the urban life – there was no place to run, to be _free,_ and the sheer crush of people often provided more temptation than anonymity. Sometimes, Harry wondered if he chose to live amongst the wizards, constantly travelling and seeing new sights and never settling in any one place to allow himself to become comfortable, because it went against his very nature – one more instinct for him to defeat. As he looked back out the window he ticked off the time with the passing landmarks, with each passing familiar sight his stomach danced that little bit faster and his breathing became that little bit harder. Trepidation, he told himself. Not anticipation. Even if he'd spent the better part of his adolescence years with the pack, and eventually at Stonehaven after the war, he didn't, couldn't or wouldn't, consider it his _home_.

The concept of home was rather difficult for him, an ethereal construction emerging from dreams and fairytales rather than actual experience. Of course, he'd had a home once, a good home and a good family with a loving mother and a doting father, but it didn't last long enough to leave more than the most fleeting of impressions. _Home_. He knew the pack kept their silent hope that _one day_ he would see Stonehaven as his home, that he would chose to stay with them and finally fully accept the pack into his scarred heart. It was a precious hope that Harry knew he killed a little each time he walked away from them.

Green eyes caught their own refection in the rear-view mirror of the car and he frowned at the striking amber that was becoming more visible the closer he came to his pack – it changed his eyes from his mothers stunning emerald jewels to the glowing jade orbs that shone rather like the canapé of the forest surrounding Stonehaven. Both were equally beautiful, and both drew far too much unwanted attention to him wherever he went, hence the dark sunglasses he usually wore but were, at that moment, folded in and sitting in his hoodie's right pocket. He sighed, tugging the sleeves of his black hoddie further down his hands self-consciously before running them over his tired face, rubbing his altered eyes with the palms of his hands. Somehow, whenever he returned here, to this place of _home_ and supposed _safety_, he regressed back into that naive little boy who was so scared and weak and in need of such protection those many summers ago.

It was one of the many reasons he'd tried to steer clear of the pack for as long as he could – being the cub of what survived of their family was as harsh as it was gratifying sometimes. "Is this it, young sir?" He hadn't felt the car stop, but as he looked out the car window he could see the tall front gates of Stonehaven that protected the packs land. A single figure sat out on the grass, ankles crossed as he leaned against the outer stone wall with smoke circling in ringlets around his shadowed face as he exhaled. The lit butt of his cigarette caught his glowing amber eyes for a second too short each time he raised his hand to pull another drag and Harry could see the twist of a smirk on his lips even through the shadows of the night. Fenrir. The driver leant forward in his seat and squinted out of his window with a frown, trying desperately to make out the house that sat hidden amongst the trees of Stonehaven in the dark – but he, like any human would be against this level of _purest night_, was as blind to the brass nameplate that he'd parked next to as he was to the man waiting by the gate.

"I'll get out here. Thank-you." He could hear the unsettled, resonating growl emitting from deep within Fenrir's throat even from within the car at his gentle graduate given to a _human_ of all things. Above all else, Fenrir _despised_ the humans – even more so than he did the wizards. Wizards may have been unjust and prejudice and intolerant of anything even remotely _different _to themselves, but if they moved far enough away and kept to their own lands, they would be left alone for the most parts – but with the humans, they killed first and questioned their actions later.

It was unforgivable.

"Uh-uh. No can do, young sir. It's not safe. There's something out there." A smile teased the corners of Harry's lips, the action feeling foreign and not a little _wrong_ in his current setting as his eyes cut to the shadowed form of Fenrir still leaning against Stonehaven's outer wall in an almost believable act of false casualness. He thought, if only to himself, that 'something' was a rather apt description to describe Fenrir. He was about to say that, unfortunately, he knew that _something_, a dig at both himself and at Fenrir, when the driver continued. "We've been having ourselves some trouble in these woods you see, young sir. Wild dogs by the looks of it. One of our girls from town was found not far from here – butchered by the dogs. Buddy of mine found her of the road to Fairport; it – it weren't nice, young sir." The man coughed, looking strangely misty-eyed in the refection of the rear-view mirror. "You just sit there and I'll go and unlatch that 'ere gate and drive you up."

"Wild dogs?" He didn't have time to feel affronted that the man, _the human_, thought him so defenceless and _fragile_. Wild dogs. The twin words echoed throughout his mind and his eyes turned to find Fenrir outside of the cab; surely he'd heard wrong?

"That's right. My buddy found tracks – huge ones. Some guy from some college said all the tracks came from one animal, but that can't be right. It's gotta be a pack... you didn't _see_." Yes, he could image the sight; large paw prints sunken into the wet mud, blood, torn flesh, shredded fur, half chewed meat torn from the girl's body, bloodied claw marks shredding concrete ground. Was that why he'd been summoned back? Was there a rogue wolf, or worse, a _mutt_ seeking to claim Stonehaven as their own? Was it an alpha from a rival pack seeking to expand his packs hunting grounds? He took a small bit of comfort in the drivers words however, because, no matter how inadequate a human tracker was compared against a werewolf, if it really was only one mutt and not a small pack then Fenrir would have no trouble dominating the wolf in a battle for land or title. "-Jesus!" Fenrir had left his post at the gate and materialized to the passenger window of the cab in the time it took for the human to finish taking a single breath; his cigarette lay forgotten and still burning on the grass behind him. Fenrir stood there, watching him, a slow grin lighting his eyes and the sharp edge of his canine teeth flashing in a fanged smile.

Fenrir reached for the door handle. The driver put the car in gear.

"It's okay," Harry said, regret blossoming deep within his chest when the man released the gear and turned in his seat to look him, astonishment clear on his face. "He's with me." The door opened and Fenrir ducked inside.

"You getting out or just thinking about it?" He asked.

"He's not getting out here," the driver said, eyebrows high against his forehead and lips twisted down in disapproval. "If your fool enough to be wandering around these woods at night, then that's your problem, but I'm not letting this here young man walk god-knows-how-far to that house back there. Now, if you just wanna ride up, unlock that gate for me and get in, I'd be obliged to ya'. Otherwise, close my door." Harry winced while Fenrir turned to the driver, as if noticing him for the first time. His top lip curled into a menacing snarl and his mouth opened – flashing fangs nowhere near as sharp as any words he'd planned to say. Whatever they were, it wasn't going to be nice. Harry sighed. Before Fenrir could cause a scene, he open the opposite door and slid out with a roll of jade eyes, pulling his hood up to cover his hair, the ends of which were already beginning to curl, against the light drizzle of rain.

The cab driver rolled down his window to protest, but Harry only smiled and thanked him quietly, handing him fifty pounds in notes in payment for the long ride and insisting he would be fine. He skirted around the back of the cab, opening the boot and pulling out his suitcases in one graceful move. Fenrir slammed the other door closed and headed for the front walk. The diver hesitated, then sped off, kicking up a hail of gravel as a parting shot of disgust at their youthful foolishness.

As Harry approached, Fenrir stepped back to watch him. Despite the biting winds and cold night air, he only wore a pair of old faded jeans and a black T-shirt, displaying slim hips, a broad chest, and sculpted biceps. In the half-decade Harry had known him, he hadn't changed. Even down to his unshaven appearance and shaggy brown hair that always looked like it was in desperate need of a comb. He was always hoping for some small difference whenever he returned to Stonehaven – a few wrinkles perhaps, a star, _hell_, even laugh lines around his mouth, anything that would mar the beauty of his wolf that shone through so strongly in his looks and bring him down to mortality with the rest of them. But he was always disappointed.

_Always_.

As Harry continued to walk toward him, Fenrir tilted his head, his eyes never leaving his. White teeth flashed as he grinned. "Welcome home, darling." His deep southern drawl mangled the endearment into a 'dah-lin' – like straight out of an old country-and-western song. Harry's left eye twitch; he _hated_ country music.

"So what," Harry cut his eyes at the older wolf before dropping his cases and pushing the gates open, it tasted his magic and hummed welcoming, creaking quietly as they grated him entrance. "Are you the welcoming committee? Or have the pack finally had enough and chained you up to the front gate where you belong?" Harry knew that if anyone else, whether they were from the pack or not, dared to speak to Fenrir like that then they would be dead or kneeling at his feet and gasping their last breaths – but all he got was a wide grin and laughing eyes.

"I missed you too, cub." Fenrir reached out for him, but he easily sidestepped back onto the road, picking up his suitcases and starting down the quarter-mile lane to the house. Fenrir followed.

A breeze of cold, wet night air lifted a curled tendril of hair from Harry's face, and with it came a dusting of scents: the sharp tang of cedar, the faint perfume of apple blossoms, the teasing smell of long-devoured dinner, the lingering scent of leaked petrol, the long since dead smell of what would have been an bonfire only a few hours previous... each smell loosened his tense muscles and worked to relax his already tired mind. But he shook himself, throwing off the feeling of _home_ and forced himself to keep his eyes on the road ahead – concentrating on doing nothing; not talking to Fenrir, not smelling any of the tempting scents Stonehaven had to offer, not looking left or right. He didn't dare ask Fenrir what was going on. That would mean engaging him in conversation, which would imply that he wanted to talk to him. With Fenrir, even the simplest overtures were dangerous. And, as much as Harry wanted to know what was happening, he knew he'd have to wait and find out later – from Remus or Sirius or someone else from the pack that _understood_ his need to be as far away from Fenrir as possible.

When they reached the house, Harry paused at the door and, after a short moment of hesitation, looked up. The five-story stone house didn't seem to loom over him, as he might have expected from a nightmare or the sort, but instead it seemed to lean back, expectant. The welcome was there, but muted, waiting for Harry to make the first move. He almost smiled, but, as he touched one of the cool stones he felt a rush of a long-forgotten memory leap out to greet him and he shuddered. Pulling away quickly, he flung open the door, threw his suitcases to the floor and turned his head slightly to where he knew Fenrir was watching him, no doubt leaning against the frame of the open front door if only he'd bothered to turn and look. "Are Remus and Sirius still in their same room?" He felt bad that he had to ask, it only proved how long he'd been gone. The silence that followed agreed.

"Of course." Harry nodded once and started up the stairs. "Breakfast is at nine."

"I remember."

It was rather creepy, if he was being honest, how deserted the inside of the old house felt. There were no lit lights to welcome him in and no sounds of life to pierce the endless shadows. It felt like something the humans would come up with in their attempt to portray the horrors of the word they had no idea truly existed. He wondered at the emptiness of the house. Werewolves were pack animals, and they stayed together. So, while they usually preferred being outside, under the stairs and their beloved mother moon, rather than taking shelter in any house that a human could have built, they hadn't been completely adverse to the warmth the old house had offered whenever it had taken to raining either – at least they hadn't when he was younger. He remembered the many nights they had ushered him inside and fussed over him nonstop, teasing him with loving smiles when he pouted and tried to escape them.

Had he really been gone that long? Had things changed that much?

He hoped not.

A loud howl jolted him from where he had been standing momentarily frozen at the head of the stairs, his hand still holding onto the delicate carving of the banister as he stared down the long hallway to where Remus and Sirius' room lay. He bit his bottom lip and allowed it to fall into a pout as he started to walk to his guardians' room. Their door was the same old oak as the other six that sat on that same landing. There was no difference or imperfection that caused it to stand out from the others, but even so, Harry could have remembered the walk in his sleep if he had ever needed to. He remembered the many nights of creeping into their room during the early hours of the morning and seeking their comfort in the face of yet another terrifying nightmare during the summers and years he had lived with the pack, (and later, after the war, here at Stonehaven). Sometimes they would even seek him out, when he was being too stubborn to admit he needed help – especially when he'd gone through that short phase when he was fifteen of refusing to go to them.

And, even if the dynamics and mannerisms of the pack had or had not changed – he knew he hadn't. Not really.

He knocked twice and waited. It was Sirius' voice that answered. "Hey, Siri." He tried to hide his nerves behind the charming smile that always managed to cause the humans and the wizards alike to stumble over their words and flush such tempting hues of cerise and rouge. Somehow though, Sirius had always been able to see through him and any mask he had tried to hide behind in the past.

He watched as Sirius turned away from the window he'd been peering out of so determinedly only moments ago to stare at him with such open adoration and _awe_ that Harry felt his heart clench painfully. Since the last time he'd seen him, Sirius had started to grow a close-clipped beard, something that usually happened when he got too distracted to shave and then couldn't be bothered undoing the damage. It also happened often when Harry shared his idea of another unplanned trip with no promise of when he'd be back. It made him look older, Harry realised, though still nowhere near his true age of forty-five. Werewolves aged slowly; such could be said for their mates, though they'd never be as physically powerful or naturally immune as a wolf. Sirius could currently pass for mid or late twenty, even with the added age his years at Azkaban had given his appearance. His hairstyle furthered the illusion of youth – shoulder-length and tied at the nape of his neck. It was a style adopted not out of fashion but because it meant fewer haircuts. Trips to a public barber were intolerable for Sirius so Remus usually ended up cutting his hair, something that wasn't an experience to be endured more than a few times a year. "Pup?"

He felt his smile crumble before it did, heard his shaky breath before he took it and could see the reflection of sorrow in Sirius brilliant grey eyes as he stared at the man that was the closest thing to a father he'd ever dreamt of having. "Hi." Strong arms were wrapped around him in a suffocating hug before he could even attempt to hide his almost break-down. Every time, _every single fucking time_ he left, returning to Remus and Sirius was the worse and best part – it made him want to promise to never leave again. But he knew deep within his heart that he would feel trapped here if he ever tried to keep it, and he never made a promise to anyone without the fullest intention of keeping his word.

He wasn't ready to stay here, infinity. Not yet at least.

A large, roughened hand treaded through his hair and stroked down to the base of his neck before Sirius repeated his action with a satisfied hum. Harry smiled into his godfather's broad chest, tightening his own hold on the man. "You grew your hair out." He nodded silently. His fringe currently hung low into his eyes and the length just barely tickled the back of his neck – it was rather stylish in all honestly, but more importantly it covered his infamous cursed scar and changed his looks just enough that any wizard could pass him by on first looks without realising it was ever him. He remembered Sirius joking back when he was only sixteen that it looked exactly like his moms when he had avoided cutting it that particular summer, it had curled more often than not and Harry had found it intolerable back then. Now, now it served its purpose.

"_Cub_." The whispered endearment brought a smile to his lips and he anticipated the large hands gripping his shoulders and Sirius releasing him to Remus as amber eyes stared into his own. "Oh, Harry." Like Fenrir, Harry tried to find something different in the appearance of the only other man he'd ever looked up to, but, apart from a few new fading scars across his right check and nose, most likely from a recent transformation, he was exactly the same; cleanly shaven and hair neatly falling into his eyes and framing his full face perfectly. Harry smiled, typical Moony. Remus returned his smile and pressed a kiss to his brow before burying his noise in his hair and breathing his scent in deeply.

Harry closed his eyes. This. Maybe this was _home_.

(o)

It was the silence of the house that woke him the next morning. He'd become accustomed to waking in busy cities and rural towns, cursing the sounds of traffic and the loud noises of the nightlife. And yet, when nothing conspired to force him from his peaceful slumber that morning, no infernal phones ringing or humans shouting obscenities to each other or cars honking, he bolted awake at a quarter to eight, blinking blearily and half expecting to see the world had ended.

Then he realized he was at Stonehaven.

He couldn't say he was relieved, but as Sirius gave a loud snore from beside him, he couldn't say he wasn't happy about it either. Turning his head to the side he saw the bathroom door of his guardians' room closed and heard the shower water running. He could only conclude Remus had already awoken and decided to leave them to sleep for a little longer, as was usual for the mornings after Harry found himself falling asleep wrapped in the comforting arms of Remus and Sirius. Harry groaned before struggling up from the embroidered bed sheets and thick feather pillows before pushing back the sheer curtains from the canopy bed. His left eye twitched.

Waking up to any room in Stonehaven was like awakening into a Victorian romance nightmare. If the canopied beds alone weren't bad enough, like something straight out of one of Dudley's fairytale books from when they were younger – in the tower where the fair maiden awaited to be saved by the oh-so-dashing prince, then it only got worse. The Hepplewhite cedar chest that stood at the foot of the bed held wood-scented down comforters, just in case the two Egyptian cotton duvets on the bed weren't enough. Layers of sheer material billowed around the open windows, streaming over a satin-covered window seats and dancing on the wind that lowered the temperature of the room by a few degrees. The walls were pale blue, adorned with photos of Sirius and Remus and the pack and very many of him as well. Across the room was a huge carved oak vanity, with a floor-length gilt mirror and vanity set – most of which remained untouched and unused. The interior of the house had been fully furnished and designed before the land had been acquitted to the pack, no doubt in the hopes of flattering the saviour, and while Harry had wanted nothing more than to burn every Egyptian woven quilt and imported down feather pillow Fenrir had reasoned that if they should ever need the wizards money for a healer or human money for blackmailing resources then they could always sell the unwanted furnishings. Harry sighed. Fenrir was a good alpha. He was always two steps ahead of everyone else and always thinking of how to make the most out of any situation, positive or negative, to make life in the future easier on them all – even if he constantly refused Harry's offer of using his inheritance for the pack's needs if the situation should ever call for it.

Harry smiled before he could help himself.

He knocked on the bathroom door and waited for Remus to answer. When he did, his hair was still covered in soapsuds and his skin was wet from the spray of the water, soaking the fluffy towel he'd hastily wrapped around himself. "I'm gonna head to my room and see if Fenrir happened to put my bags in there. I need to get changed out of these clothes before breakfast I think." Harry said tugging at the end of his wrinkled top. He nose scrunched as he smelled the body odour he'd accumulated over his seven hour plane journey and long cab ride to Stonehaven, and his missed opportunity of a shower last night – it was rather distracting really. While werewolves didn't sweat or excrete perspiration anymore than a human or a wizard would, they were gifted with a sensitive sense of smell that allowed them to smell the build up of dirt and grime if they didn't wash regularly. Many of the wizards simply assumed werewolves were unclean and unclothe for their love of the forests and desire to not be parted with their mother moon, but in truth, they were the more reverential of the two races.

"Alright, Harry. I'll tell Sirius if I can manage to wake him up in time. We'll see you at breakfast, cub." Harry nodded before slipping out into the hall and closing the door quietly behind him, though, Harry doubted even if he'd slammed it shut that it would have woken Sirius.

The first thing Harry noticed was the symphony of snores that echoed along the long hallway and up and down the other four landings, causing him to chuckle as he made his way down to his room in the converted basement. The pack had retreated to the old stone house after all then, he had no doubt they'd all be up in the next half hour and rushing down to the sunroom for first servings of breakfast and cramming in to all of the available bathrooms, not all of the rooms were built with ènsuite bathrooms like Remus and Sirius' after all. His nose scrunched up again at the silent reminder of his need to shower and he found himself jogging down to the basement faster.

The basement consisted of a large, open space filled with a few entertainment systems from the Muggle world, like the pool table that sat setup and sitting innocently under its bright focus light and a flat screen television that a few of the human changed wolves had introduced the pack to. It was complete with light brown walls and a working fireplace, and though there were no windows or natural light it was quite a bright space. There were three comfortable looking sofas that circled the television and a large metal fridge filled with fresh cuts of meat and cold beer sitting quietly humming in the far corner. Harry shook his head. There were three doors off to the side that lead of into different rooms; one, into a shared bathroom in titles of black and white, and the other two where bedrooms, one his own and then other Fenrir's. It had been embarrassing (and rather annoying) at first when he realized he was intruding on his alpha's personal space, but Fenrir had insisted that he hadn't minded at all and with all of the other rooms in use or deemed unsuitable for him, he'd had little choice but to accept it.

It was something he'd learnt to live with.

Harry snorted. While most alpha's would have placed their rooms at the top of house, much like how they would pick the warmest place to sleep in a cave, most likely at the furthest point from the entrance – which would force any intruders to go through the entire pack before they could reach the alpha – Fenrir worked in the opposite way. He had placed himself in the basement, perhaps the coldest place in the stone house but it was also directly under the front door one level down, so he would be the first and last threat that any intruder would face. Not that they'd had any, yet. Even so, it had taken both himself and Remus eight months to convince Fenrir to allow them to put a few protection wards around their alpha's room so he would be protected as well – Fenrir had only agreed as long as every other room in the house was likely warded, so no wizard could tell the difference from one room to the next.

Harry sighed, shaking his thoughts from his head and narrowing his eyes at the elaborate design of his room. He saw his empty bags sitting at the foot of his unused bed and groaned, if Fenrir had unpacked all of his belonging then he had done so purposely knowing how long it would take him to repack it all again. With all the chaos that happened on a daily bases around the pack it would easily take him anything up to three weeks or more. He groaned again, running his hands over his tired face, but moved to gather a change of clothes and his soap and naturally-scented shampoo – he'd think on it later, right now all he wanted was a shower and food.

–

Half an hour later Harry stood frowning at the table in the sunroom, stacks of honeyed ham and pancakes, his favourite breakfast, sat waiting patiently on their separate steaming platters with jugs of hot syrup and freshly squeezed orange juice placed at intervals down the long table. A bowl of freshly picked strawberry's sat as the centrepiece. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged on the still damp ends, he chosen an old grey top that was a few sizes too big and had a habit of falling of his left shoulder and a pair of black jeans to wear today – he'd forwent shoes. Greetings amongst the pack tended to be as exuberant as they were physical, often leaving as many bruises as a few rounds of roughhousing would have. Harry sighed at the thought before frowning, looking back at the cooked meal set out in front of him. It couldn't have been Fenrir, for the life of their alpha he couldn't cook a decent meal without poisoning the entire pack, and Remus was still upstairs trying to wake Sirius, and Mayra, the only other member of the pack he could recall having regularly having cooked for them before, was still asleep as far as he knew.

"So who on Earth...?" He hadn't realise he'd spoke his thoughts out loud until a deep voice answered his question.

"You're not the only one who likes to keep secrets, little brother-of-mine." A well muscled arm flung itself over his shoulder and Harry stumbled slightly at the sudden added wait, causing Cain to laugh loudly, his blond curls swaying as he did. Blue eyes heavily highlighted by amber opened and stared down at him seriously for a long moment. "You were gone too long, Harry. We missed you." The unshaven chin and pointed teeth would have scared many humans and wizards alike if Cain ha spoke such serious words to them, but Harry knew, despite the jokes and constant laughter, that Cain felt many things deeper and hid his hurts better than most in the pack – he'd been like that ever since he'd lost his mate in the first war according to Remus, she'd been pregnant at the time. Harry doubted if he'd ever really recovered from her loss.

"Yeah." Harry scratched the back of his neck and looked down to his bare feet as an embarrassed blush heated his cheeks. In all honesty, he agreed. He'd never been gone for more than half a year before he set of for his last _world trip_, but the last time he had been here at Stonehaven was for his twentieth birthday – he was going to be twenty-two in a few months. "I keep wondering when Fenrir's gonna locked me away and refuse to let me out again, but." He shrugged; he seriously doubted his alpha hadn't already thought of that idea. It wouldn't be the first time after all that he'd kept Harry by his side against his will, and Harry was only grateful Fenrir hadn't attempted to try and see it through again. Yet, at least.

"Don't tempt me, cub." Both he and Cain turned at the sudden interruption, their alpha's deep voice startling them both and Harry was at least relieved that he wasn't the only one who'd jumped. Fenrir. He stood in the doorway of the room looking exhausted enough to collapse down onto cold wooden floor at the slightest touch. His loose, dark brown curls were an unruly mess, rumpled and plastered down to his forehead by sweat and the light dusting of his beard covering his cheeks and square chin could do with a shave or a trim at the very least. His eyes were half-lidded, struggling to focus. Harry smiled. The pack were the only ones who ever got to see their feared and dreaded alpha looking so venerable – it made something in him swell with pride. "I'm not above kidnapping." He was dressed in only the white pair of silk boxer shorts with black paw prints that Harry had brought back from France as a joke present from one of his previous trips. With a yawn, Fenrir stretched and rolled his shoulders, rippling muscles down his chest before he started into the room with a strong squeeze of Cain's shoulder in greeting and a ruffling of Harry's hair which he knew Harry hated. Cain snickered beside him and Harry forced his eyes away from where their alpha was pouring himself a mug of black coffee.

He glared at Cain.

"Yeah, I remember." He was only fourteen at the time when he'd tried to escape the new and controlling ways of the man that had suddenly become his alpha – of course, as a newly turned wolf Fenrir couldn't let him leave until he was trained and could prove he could survive the constant bloodthirsty urges of his wolf. He'd gotten as far as the road to Fairport before Fenrir had caught up with him that first time and literary flung him over his shoulder before taking back to the pack. Harry remembered refusing to talk to the man for a month after that particular episode.

Fenrir eyes caught his, dark amber swimming in shadows, and he frowned, most likely remembering the same memory as Harry was – only from his own perspective. Would have it been all that different through Fenrir's eyes? Better? Worse maybe? Who knew? "Sit." He told them, pulling a chair out himself and nodding in satisfaction as only then did they follow him, "and eat something, you've both lost weight. You can't do that. If you don't get enough energy, your control will start to slip. I've warned you both about that before." Fenrir eased his frown when he noticed the shamed look on Cain's face. "Besides, you know what Mayra's like, she'll attack you with a whole roasted prize-pig if you're not careful." Harry smiled and Cain snorted, ducking his head to hide his chuckles.

"Would that really be such a bad thing, my alpha?" Cain asked, his azure-blue eyes watching as Fenrir stacked his plate with a base of pancakes before building it high with the succulent honeyed ham; he covered in it hot syrup before taking his first bite – only then did Cain move to ready his own meal. Harry remained unmoved, simply watching the other two older wolves.

Fenrir hummed, more of a wolf's grunt of agreement than a human sound, as he chewed slowly, eyes watching Harry with an unblinking stare that was starting to make him feel a little uncomfortable. "Cub–" A commotion from the base of the stairs interrupted whatever his alpha had planned to go on and say, not that Harry minded all that much but if the annoyed growl that followed was anything to go by then Fenrir wasn't all that pleased by the sudden disturbance. Harry turned towards the commotion in an effort to hide his grin and he glanced up with wide jade eyes as a tall, sandy-haired figure burst into the sunroom. Nick caught sight of him, covered the room in three running steps, and swung him up off his seat in an effortless hug. Harry almost cursed when his heel caught the edge of his chair and toppled it over – sometimes, he really hated being so much younger, and thus smaller, than the rest of the pack.

Nick gave a mock growl as he squeezed Harry tighter to his chest. "You were gone too long, little brother. Much too long." Lifting him up, Nick kissed him – whatever his greeting, the kiss was definitely not fraternal, but a deep kiss that left Harry slightly dazed and gasping for breath. Anyone else would have gotten smacked for it, but anyone else wouldn't have been able to kiss with half of Nick's expertise, so Harry overlooked the indiscretion.

"Well, just make yourself at home." Fenrir drawled from his seat at the head of the table, his fork bent and twisted in his clenched fist and his eyes glowing a sickly amber. Nick turned to Fenrir and grinned, though only Harry was close enough to hear the quietly whispered curse, before, still holding Harry captive in one arm, he strode across the floor and thumped Fenrir on the back. Harry could have guessed what happened next without even looking. Fenrir's arm flew out in a blur of movement and grabbed Nick in a deadly headlock, he could see Fenrir's muscles twitching as he refrained from breaking his packmate's neck, but, thankfully, he was placided enough to simply pull Harry free and move him so he was sitting on his knee before shoving Nick away. Nick regained his balance and his grin in less than half a second, bouncing back over to them with all the energy of an overeager pup; it all felt rather choreographed really.

Harry on the other hand crossed his arms over his chest and scowled with his head turned away from both of them. Unfortunately, this was a rather common occurrence whenever he returned to Stonehaven, and it always ended up with him _here_, sitting on his alpha knee like some scolded five year old with strong arms wrapped around his midsection in an unbreakable hold. He growled quietly. He _hated_ being the only cub of the pack. "When did you get in?" Nick asked him, not at all fazed by his obvious show of annoyance. "And why didn't you tell me he was coming?" Nick jumped and pointed an accusing finger at Sirius who'd just walked into the sunroom, all heads turned to look at the new arrivals and it was then that Harry managed to wriggle out of Fenrir hold and move other to his godfather for a reassuring hug. Before he could however, he was attacked from behind, grabbed once again in a bear hug that lifted him off the ground.

"The prodigal has returned!" Harry twisted to see a face as familiar as Nick's.

"You're as bad as your brother." He told her, attempting to wriggle out of her grasp much like he had with Fenrir. "Can't you guys just shake hands?" Anya laughed and let him down. "I should squeeze harder. Maybe that would teach you to stay home for a while." Anya shared her brother's sandy-blond hair and warm brown eyes, and she was almost as tall as him too; they usually passed themselves off as twins, even though Anya was almost twenty years younger than Nick. Werewolves stop aging progressively after they hit their maturity, sometimes stopping all together once they found their mate, it usually started after they hit sixteen, though Harry had only stopped aging once he hit nineteen – if he were to look back to the pictures taken on his birthday that year and compare them to his current refection, he doubted he would find any difference save for his longer hair and tanned complexion.

"Morning Harry," Peter yawned, before pressing a lingering kiss to his temple and heading for the table, collapsing into one of the free chairs with his head resting on his folded arms on top of the table in front of him. Peter was perhaps the only ginger werewolf Harry had ever met, the thought of which had always given him a great amount of amusement. He was short and wiry with an easy grin and wild hair that always looked as if he'd forgotten to comb it. He was one of the oldest in the pack at seven-three, but he looked half that, which he owed as much to his passion for healthy living as he did to being a werewolf. He was shorter and sturdier Nick, with broad shoulders and bulging biceps that made Fenrir look like a featherweight. They all knew however, that Fenrir's strength was hidden and all the more deadly for it. "Has my Leah arrived yet?"

Fenrir shook his head in answer and Harry frowned. "Is the whole pack coming?" He was careful not to say _home_, he knew how the pack would take it and he didn't want to give them any false hopes. Remus guided him to a chair in the middle of Sirius and himself before he started filling his plate for him, placing a jug of hot syrup in front of him when he'd finished. Harry resisted against the urge to roll his eyes.

If being the cub of the pack wasn't bad enough, then being a submissive definitely was.

"Leah called last night to say she would be here around midday. She's bringing her mate with her, so everyone _behave_." Fenrir looked specifically at Nick as he said this but the other werewolf only grinned happily while the rest of the table broke out into excited whispers and murmuring. Leah had found her mate three years ago, whilst in Venice as part of the art course she'd singed up to that year, and she'd stayed with him ever since. Anthony was a wizard of four-two who knew what she was and was very accepting of both her and their new bound – he had no family to speak of and was, apparently, looking for love in the city of love itself. Leah had called in regularly and visited whenever she could, from what he knew, and was always promising they would meet Anthony _soon_ – it seemed now they finally would be. "Chris is most likely still sleeping, he arrived early this morning, and Logan is running late, as usual, but should be here soon. Adrian and Caleb went into town to get some information about the recent attack on the local girl."

"Oh." _How very eloquent you are this morning, Harry_. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at himself.

"Harry, cub, you should really eat more." He hadn't noticed Mayra entering the room, but as her light green eyes bore into his with gentle concern and unconditioned acceptance he couldn't find it in himself to feel annoyed at her constant attempts to keep him well feed. Unlike with Mrs. Weasley he knew she would back down if he told her he wasn't hungry or that he'd eat some later, she'd only ever had his best interest at heart. She was the mother of the last cubs born into the pack some three decades ago, Adrian and Caleb, and, while she looked to be somewhere in her later thirties, in reality she was rivalling Peter in age – though none of them actually knew exactly how old she really was, even her sons. Her eyes were a beautiful light green and Harry privately thought he'd never meet anyone as accepting or caring as she was. She had stunning dark copper coloured hair that she kept cut short and her physique was as fit as any werewolves he'd ever seen.

Picking up his fork he started to slowly cut into another sliced of honeyed ham; Mayra's smile was as blinding as Fenrir's smirk was devilish. "So," he chewed slowly before swallowing and wondering how to word his question without making himself sound like a complete prat. "Why, exactly, has the entire pack been summoned?"

There was a moment of silence as the table turned to look at Fenrir, who simply turned the page of the newspaper he was reading before answering. "Intervention."

"An intervention?" Anya question tentatively.

"The pack has been slipping apart these past few years. Chris is in London getting his lawyers degree for another two years, Leah is with her mate in Venice for most of the year and Adrian and Caleb spend weeks at a time down in the city for the _night life_. Logan is always disappearing off to find Chris when the urge hits him and Harry is constantly of travelling every other year for the Goddess only knows how long. The rouges wolves – the _mutts,_ and the neighbouring packs have started to notice. The attack on the local girl was a threat to our claim on this territory. They think we're weak. And I will not allow that to pass by unnoticed." Fenrir sipped his coffee, still not having looked up or having raised or changed his tone of voice for the entire time he had spoken, and Harry bit his lip in contemplation.

No one said much of anything else after that.

(o)

The Legacy was an old book that contained countless stories of werewolves throughout the ages, most of which were 'my father told me this when I was a child' type yarns, many dating back to before the first edition of The Legacy was even written. There were tales of werewolves who'd lived their lives in reverse, staying in their wolf form for most of their lives and only changing to their human form when the physical need demanded it. There were stories of knights and soldiers and bandits and marauders who'd supposedly been werewolves. Most of those names had vanished from history, but one was still well known, even by those who'd never cracked open a history book in their lives. Human history tells of the legend that Genghis Khan's family tree started with a wolf and a doe. According to The Legacy, that was more truth than allegory, the wolf being a werewolf and the doe being a symbol for a human mother. According to that line of reasoning, Genghis Khan himself would have been a werewolf, which explained his lust for blood and his near-supernatural abilities in war. It likely wasn't any truer than the countless human genealogies that include Napoleon and Cleopatra in their family tree. Still, it made a good story.

But, there was _one_ a particular story in The Legacy that Harry had always especially loved for whatever reason – it also happened to be one of the few that could also be found in human werewolf mythology too. The tale starts with a newlywed nobleman's village that was plagued by a werewolf. It goes on to describe one particular night that he goes out with the hope of capturing the beast and freeing his village from its terror. The nobleman hears a noise in the bushes close by and sees a monstrous wolf. He jumps from his saddle and gives chase through the woods on foot – the beast flees from him. At one point, he gets close enough to swing his sword and lops off one of the wolf's front paws. The creature escapes, but when the nobleman goes back to retrieve the paw, he finds it transformed into the blooded limb of a woman's hand. Exhausted, he returns to his home to tell his wife of what had happened. He finds her hiding in the back rooms of their home, binding the bloody stump where her hand used to be. Realizing the truth, he kills her. The human version of the story ends there, but The Legacy goes further, giving the ending a pro-werewolf twist. In The Legacy tale, the nobleman kills his new wife by slicing open her stomach. When he does so, out tumbles a litter of wolf pups; his own children. The sight drives the nobleman mad and he kills himself with his sword. Now, as a submissive werewolf capable of carrying his own child or children one day, Harry wasn't particularly keen on the thought of a bellyful of pups. He preferred to interpret the pups as an allegorical symbol of the nobleman's guilt – when he realizes he's killed his wife without giving her a chance to explain, he goes mad and kills himself. A much more fitting end.

Harry's not sure why he thinks of that particular story as he stares wide-eyed at Leah's full, rounded stomach that looks close to bursting, but he does anyway. "Harry," he looks up from her stomach to her face at the sound of his name, returning her beaming smile with a somewhat hesitant one of his own before accepting the hug she pulls him into. It's rather awkward with the bellyful of pups, but they manage. Leah's always reminded him of a mix between Hermione and Ginny; she was loving and caring and always there to listen to any worries or fears he had, and with her deep hazel eyes and long curly (ginger, like her father's_)_ hair and tanned skin she looked so much like his best friend that it hurt sometimes, but she was also the first person to punch him when he returned to Stonehaven for taking so long in getting back to them. "When did you get back?" She asked with a laugh as she released him.

"Em. Last night?" Her eyebrows rose and he saw the punch even before she'd raised her fist. He rubbed his shoulder with a hurt pout and a frown as he tried to easy the bruise that wanted to rise. He glared at her.

"What the hell took you so long? The last time you where here was for your twentieth birthday! Even I still manage to visit at least five times a year and I live all the way in _fucking ROME_!"

"Relax, _amorè_." Anthony's accent was strong and thick, and his English was ill practiced but Harry could still understand him clearly – having been around Fleur for so long made it easier for him to mentally organize the mistakes of accent in his mind and convert what the person was trying to say into the appropriate English term. It was much like Occlumency in some ways. Anthony rested his large hands on Leah's shoulders and gently pulled her back a few spaces so Harry didn't have to lean so far back to avoid their foreheads bashing together. The Roman wizard moved his mate until her back was resting against his chest and he soothed her by running his hands up and down her bare arms. "I'm sure there's a reason why he was gone for as long as he was. But he's here now, isn't that all that matters, _amorè_?_ Il mio amor__è__ bellissimo__._"

Harry scratched the back of his neck and winced slightly under Leah's still glowing amber eyes as she silently demand an answer as to what exactly took him so long. "Well, it was kinda – it was, like, a lot of small things that built up to bigger things and then suddenly: WHAM!" He waved his arms around for a moment for emphasis and grinned but Leah didn't look the least bit satisfied. He sighed. "Fine. Ron and Hermione moved out from the Burrow and into their own place and Mione' demanded I spend some time with them so I stayed in England for a few months. Hermione had just found out she was pregnant again when I left to go see Bill for a bit in Egypt. He was showing more sings of lycanthropy so I decided to stay there for a little while, because, if he did started transforming then he would become a part of the pack and I figured he'd rather at least have someone around that remembers how scary it is when you first transform. Turns out the Egyptian moon was just doing some weird cycle thing – he's fine now. I went to Australia for a little while and took a healing course with a small wizard practice out there and then I went back to England a few months back to help Ginny with her wedding and I was just on my way to Finland to find Luna and Neville when Fenrir summoned me back." Leah looked rather dazed by the time he'd finished and he felt a little bit of vindictive pride when she nodded absentmindedly.

"At least you've been doing something worthwhile with your time, cub." Fenrir eyes weren't forced on him, for a change, which Harry felt rather grateful for, but instead on Leah's rounded stomach. Harry understood, on some level – he hadn't been in the pack for as long as the others but he still _understood_. Leah's child would be the first cub born into the pack for almost three decades. It was momentous. And she hadn't told them. He ducked Fenrir hand that moved to ruffle his hair and grinned when Fenrir's lips twitched as he missed, before yelping as Fenrir's arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him so his back was resting against Fenrir chest in a mirror of how Anthony was holding Leah at that moment. Harry tried to move away but Fenrir only tightened his hold, keeping him there for the time being and resting his chin on his head.

Harry rolled his jade eyes. Typical.

"Congratulations."

"Fenrir, alpha, I kept trying to tell you, but it felt so wrong to do it over the phone, so I figured I'd surprise you and tell you when I came for my next visit but by the time everything got sorted I was already five months along and all _fat_ and-" Harry ducked his head, hiding his face against Fenrir's large forearm and using his alpha's arm to hide his twitching lips as Leah rambled on nervously.

"You should have told me either way, Leah." Fenrir stared her down and waiting for her to drop her eyes and bare her throat submissively before he turned his amber eyes to her mate, running his eyes over the wizard and withholding a low growl that Harry could feel trembling through his form. The man was a wizard, and as such he brought out an instant hate from deep within Fenrir, but he was also the mate to one of his pack, which conflicted against his every instinct – he wanted to protect Leah, as he did with all of the pack, and hurting her mate would only cause her harm. Fenrir was conflicted – it was hidden in his eyes, but still, Harry could see it. The man holding Leah to his chest looked to be in his late forties, compared to Leah's young appearance of early twenties it must have been quite a barrier for him to wrap his mind around – they were about the same age in all honestly but appearances seemed to matter a lot to the humans and wizards alike. His face was cleanly shaven and his hair had what looked to be the grown out haircut of a mohawk, either side only supporting half the length of hair that the would-be-mohawk itself did. He had dark blue eyes and dyed black hair, but the one thing Harry noticed above all was the love he looked at Leah with. Fenrir had seen it to by his pleased grunt. "Welcome to Stonehaven."

Harry grinned.

* * *

So, _Silent Moments_ (the original) was the unfortunate victim of a admin officer of who decided to delete my little story for the misuse of lyrics that were never placed within the story in the first place. (Sucks). Am I annoyed? Yes. Very. But moving on, I've decided to say _fuck it_ and repost anyway. Just a few things before everyone starts asking the same questions: firstly, yes, this is a repost. Yes, _Silent Moments_ used to an Oneshot, and no this is evidently not the case anymore. As an Oneshot _Silent Moments_ came in over 25k in words and a couple of people had commented that it was a little much to read in one go, so I've decided to split it into three chapters this time around. So yes, this story is complete but not fully posted. There will be regular updates once a week, most likely next Monday, and in that time I will be going over the next chapter and editing them in much the same way as I've done this one. Having said that, I wish to say thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, alerted/favourite or added _Silent Moments_ (the original) to a community; it really does mean a lot that so many people found enjoyment in it. Also, _Violent Desires_ is _Silent Moments_ sequel (of-a-sort). Though in all honesty I'm not sure if you need to read the completed _Silent Moments _for it to make any sense, but it's there for anyone who's interested – it explains Fenrir's and Harry's history a little more and when I'm finished updating the next two instalments of _Silent Moments_ I do plan to start posting more chapters for _Violent Desires_. I also promise that the next authors note shalln't be as long as this one.

**Translations:**

(Italian to English) – A_morè_: love.  
(Italian to English) –_ Il mio amor__è__ bellissimo__: _My beautiful love.  
_[[Note: I studied French, not Italian, and so can't be a hundred percent sure that my translations here are correct. To the best of my knowledge they are, but there you go. I try._]]

Leave a review if you have time and tell me what you think.

Much love: **Sketch**.


	2. Part the Second

_Chapter Two; Part the Second. _

Harry found himself flung on the cold wooden floor with the air knocked out of him later that same night, and, with his vision of the room still spinning, Caleb then decided to jump on top of him in an effort to steal what little breath he had left. He groaned. Caleb pulled the old top he'd tucked into his trousers out from his jeans and began to tickle his stomach and sides, fingertips dancing across his skin with barely-there touches and Harry had to bite his bottom lip in a desperate effort to stop himself from crying out, like the git wanted him to. There were tears gathered in his eyes and a small trail of blood running down his chin from the corner of his lips when Caleb finally stopped and leaned back to _admire his work_.

Total fucking arse.

The older wolf grinned suggestively down at him, white teeth glinting beneath his dark moustache and fangs catching the light as he ran his tongue over their sharp edges. "Looking forward to tonight?" He asked, eyebrows raised and the beginning of a smirk teasing the corners of his lips. Caleb ran the rough tips of his fingers from his belly button farther under his top that was far too large and gave the git far too much room to move around in as far as Harry was concerned. Harry slapped Caleb's hand back down to his stomach.

"We aren't supposed to have fun," he said. "This is a serious matter, requiring a serious attitude." He nodded once, as if doing so would prove the importance behind his words. It didn't.

A loud bout of laughter exploded from the bathroom and the door opened to reveal a topless Adrian wiping his hands on a towel. The younger of the twins cocked his head at the sight he and his brother made on the floor and leaned back against the frame of the bathroom door, not offering any help to Harry who now found his wrist captured and unable to move from under the smirking Caleb. "You can almost say that with a straight face, cub. I'm impressed." Harry rolled his eyes but said nothing. They were identical, the twins, the only way to tell between them was if you knew them personally. Caleb tended to be the lazier of the pair, rarely shaving or combing his hair but he loved to soak in baths for hours at a time while Adrian was almost obsessive about everything having to be _just right_. Harry was tempted to classify him with OCD but the werewolf had only punched him when he suggest he go and get tested. Both Caleb and Adrian had their mother's unique copper hair and light green eyes, but they were built tall and wide, with wiry muscles and large hands – like their father, Dominic. He had had died during the second war protecting Mayra in the final battle, and it was his death that Harry had perhaps taken the hardest. Dominic had always been the only other one aside from Fenrir who sat with him for hours during the nights that sleep eluded him, telling him of the tales in The Legacy or sharing a few of the pack secrets in the hopes that he would feel more like a part of the pack himself. Maybe even in the hopes that it would help him to understand his packmates better. He'd done that a lot – not to say that the others had ever shut him out or made him feel unwelcome. Nothing of the sort. But Dominic had been special – awe-inspiring with every word and action he made. "Come on, admit it. You're looking forward to it." Harry shrugged in answer.

"_Lair_." Caleb watched him with light green eyes and his usual dark smirk full of so many unnamed promised before he released his wrists carefully and leaned back so he could move off him and so they sitting side-by-side. "You are. I _know_ you are. You love to run – you _live_ for it. And how often do we get to run in town?" Caleb's eyes glinted. "An officially sanctioned mutt-hunt."

"Come on," a wet towel hit Caleb's head and Adrian grinned when his twin growled at him angrily. "We'd better go meet the rest of the pack downstairs or they'll think we're holding our cub up here against his will." Harry snorted but gladly used the excuse to escape the two menace-some brothers. Just as he was leaving he glanced back at Adrian to see him picking up the towel he'd used to fling at his brother, putting it in the washing hamper by the door of the bathroom before following Harry and his brother out of the room. Harry grinned. Definitely OCD.

"Harry!" Leah squealed his name the moment he walked into what they usually used as a meet room, five comfortable sofas filling the impressive space and the fireplace was already lit – it was as elaborately designed and furnished as the rest of the house, if not worse with its gilt floor-length mirrors and heavy satin curtains and brass designs carved out from the ceiling. It was enough to cause anyone a headache but, unfortunately, it was one of the few rooms in the house that could hold them all. "Cub." Harry blinked at his packmate as she jumped up from her mate's arms and skipped over to him. His left eye twitched. Harry wasn't ashamed to admit the sight of Leah giggling and squealing and cooing was a shock to his system. He was still too used to her tomboy-like ways that he remembered her for, to the Leah would who would rather punch the handsome boy asking her out on a date in the face than gushing over baby clothes and spending a small part of her mate's fortune on a nursery they hadn't even built yet. "You'll tell them, won't you?" She asked, gripping his right arm in both of her own and holding him close to her chest, smiling brightly all the while. "You'll tell them I can come on the hunt too, won't you?" He groaned mentally, looking to Remus and Sirius for help but they only shook their heads silently and grinned at him. He sighed. He understood why she couldn't go with them on the hunt; he'd taken a Healer course for a year after all. Werewolf pregnancies were notoriously difficult and temperamental, few submissives managed to carry to full-term for their first pregnancy and conceiving a cub was a near miracle as it was. But, at the same time, he could understand her longing to join the hunt.

Now all he had to do was make her understand that. "Sure," he shrugged, "you should come." She smiled brightly; opening her mouth with a victorious curve of her lips to say something in Fenrir's direction. Their alpha was leaning on one of the wide window ledges across the room, staring out at the darkening sky and ignoring the on-going's of the room. "Of course, it shouldn't matter that your five months pregnant and every time you transform you run the risk of miscarrying. It also shouldn't matter that running in your wolf form could cause the umbilical cord to wrap around the cub's neck and kill it. It _also_ shouldn't matter that we might be facing a hostile mutt who thinks he can come in and hunt on our territory – you need to do your bit for the pack. You totally should come; the thrill of the hunt is definitely worth it." Leah glared at him with a hurt pout, but he knew that she understood where they were coming from at least now – they were only worried for her, but it didn't make her any less frustrated.

He hoped his eyes showed his apology for his harsh words. He watched her face for a long moment, waiting for that smile that she gave him seconds later along with a kiss to his brow before he moved over to sit on the arm of the sofa Remus and Sirius were sharing. He smiled at Remus when he looked up to greet him, happily forgetting the whispered conversation he'd been sharing with his mate moments before – not that Sirius looked like he minded. Harry wondered at what they had been discussing but dismissed it for now. He sighed. Unfortunately, his choice to sit by Remus and Sirius also meant he was sitting within reaching distance of Fenrir, who had turned his piercing eyes onto him the moment he'd headed his way. Harry watched, almost detached, as Fenrir's large hand reached down to stroke the inside of his forearm and Harry shivered. Nervous anticipation twisted in his stomach. Turning his head back to the side, Fenrir looked out the window at the gathering dusk, his fingertips tickling against the inside of Harry's elbow.

The entire pack was gathered now, waiting.

"You've all done your own researched on the mutts running free out there in the past." It wasn't a question, it was one of the few requirements Fenrir had insisted every member of his pack learn – the only thing more dangerous than a wizard or a human was a mutt who knew every law and every loophole of their society. They were dangerous, and Fenrir had never let them forget it. "Logan, you took that on as a job. You know more about them than any of us. We will need your nose to find him and your knowledge to identify him." Logan nodded sharply from his place sitting behind Chris, his mate, his arms wrapped tightly around his broad chest and his brows frowned as he listen. His blond hair feel into his dark eyes and he held his mate to him tighter. The contrast of Chris' dark skin again Logan's light tan still caused Harry to stop and stare at the beauty they created together. "Then we will need the strength of the pack of get rid of him. It's a tricky situation. I do not want any of you hurt tonight," dark amber eyes searched across each and every face, even Leah and Anthony's faces, neither of whom were actually going to be attending the hunt tonight, his eyes imploring they listen to the importance of his words. "We need to proceed with absolute caution. This mutt has killed on our territory and he's insinuated himself into our town. We need to lure him out without calling attention to ourselves or making him panic. We will only get one chance to surprise him with an such an attack." Harry's gaze swept over his alpha's face, taking in the strong line of his jaw, the straining tendons in his neck, the dark shadow of hair on his chin, the curve of his lips, and the glowing iris of his eyes that grew stronger with each passing minute as they waited for night to fall. Heat pooled in the pit of Harry's stomach and slowly, so _agonizingly_ slowly, radiated down. The reaction was instant. Fenrir's head swivelled around to face him, and maybe he should have felt embarrassed, maybe some part of him was, but as he stared at Fenrir's dilated pupils and as he smelt his joined excitement he could only smirk. Fenrir gave a hoarse chuckle, leaning towards him, and whispered those three magical little words: "time to hunt."

(o)

Evergreen Valley was a blue-collar town with a population of a little over eight thousand. It had gotten its start in the heyday of industrialization and boomed during the late forties and fifties, but three recessions later and constant downsizing had taken their toll. All that remained of the once thriving industry was a rundown Tractor Factory to the east of the town and an over-mortgaged Paper Plant up to the north – the worst thing was, perhaps, the fact that most of the townsfolk from Evergreen had or would work in one, or both if they were unfortunate enough, of these two behemoths. But, despite all of its many faults, Evergreen Valley was a town that prided itself on hometown values; it was a place where people worked hard, played harder, and filled the baseball stadium regardless of whether the local team was first in the league or last. In Evergreen Valley, the bars closed at midnight on weekdays, the annual PTA jumble sale was a major social event, and gun control meant not letting your kids shoot with anything bigger than a twenty-gauge. At night, young women walked the streets of Evergreen Valley fearing little more than catcalls whistled from passing pickup trucks by guys they'd known since childhood – they did not get murdered by strangers and they most certainly did not get dragged off, slaughtered, and eaten by mad dogs.

It just wasn't how things worked in Evergreen Valley, Harry assumed. It was like a little bit of history that had been forgotten in the modern ear – they still wore their grandparents' old clothes and they still believed that everything outside of their small town was exactly as quant and innocent as they were. It was a thought that made him smile, despite the seriousness of their task.

They split up for the drive into town. Cain, Peter, Caleb, and Adrian heading for the west side of town, where there were a couple of old three-story walk-ups and two highway-side motels. This meant that they had the better sector, since the mutt was more likely to be found in less permanent housing, but the downside was that Fenrir had decided they'd have to search in human form, since they couldn't exactly roam an apartment complex as wolves. Mayra, Logan, Chris, Remus, and Sirius headed to the north boarder of the town, where a couple of abandoned warehouses sat forgotten with a poor attempt at having been boarded up. It would make an ideal place for a mutt to stay free of rent and questions from the town's people; it was also more dangerous out of any of the sectors, so Fenrir had set a few of the more experienced wolves together in that search group than he had for others. Nick, Anya, Harry, and Fenrir where to canvass the east end of the town, where they hoped to find the mutt renting or boarding somewhere local or close by. They took Harry's car, an old Diesel Hatchback that he always found some excuse to leave at Stonehaven. Fenrir was driving. It was Harry's own fault really; Fenrir had challenged him to a race to the garage and while his ego had accepted, his feet had lost. They arrived in the city just past nine-thirty.

Fenrir dropped him off behind a medical clinic that had closed at five, parking Harry's car in the empty car park round the front before getting out himself and opening the door for Anya as she and Nick followed their alpha – he left the keys inside the Hatchback. It was Evergreen Valley after all; car crime was all but nonexistent. Harry watched the proceedings from the darkened alleyway he'd snuck into, there was a small open space between two dumpsters that reeked of disinfectant but was just big enough for him to hide himself in as he allowed the Change to over him.

Changing forms was much like any other bodily function, in the way that it comes most easily when the body needs to do it most. An uncontrolled werewolf undergoes his transformation under one of two circumstances: when he is threatened and when his internal cycle dictates the need. _The need_ is roughly lunar based, though, unlike how human mythology would have their masses believe, it has little to do with the full moon; a werewolf's natural cycle was usually weekly. As the time for their Change approached, a werewolf could feel their symptoms gradually worsening until it became an impossible urge that they could no longer ignore or avoid. It usually started with the restlessness, the sleepless nights, the irritated skin, like something was crawling and scratching beneath the surface in a desperate attempt to be set free. And then the internal cramps and spasms started, the inability to keep any food down, along with that overwhelming sensation that something needed to be done and the mind and body refusing to rest until that need had been satisfied. Harry had heard the symptoms being referred to as 'recognizable as the sings of hunger' whilst on his travels, he supposed that was a apt description in some ways, for, like hunger, it could be put off to deal with at a later time, but, before long, the body would take over and force a Change on its own if you were stupid enough to ignore it for too long. Also like hunger, they could anticipate the symptoms and satisfy the need beforehand. Or they could forgo the natural cycle completely and learn how to transform themselves as often as they liked, which is what Fenrir had taught them to do, to Change more often to improve their control and ensure they didn't wait too long, since waiting could lead to nasty side effects – like their hands turning into paws in the middle of grocery shopping, or, once the Change was complete, being completely overcome by frustrated rage and bloodlust that they had no control left and was forced to surrender to their wolf until they could transform back.

Harry sighed. Whilst he'd been away on his travels, he'd ignored Fenrir's teachings and only given in to his need to transform when he deemed it absolutely necessary, partly as a silent _fuck you_ to Fenrir and maybe even a little to distance himself from 'the _curse_ of lycanthropy', as the wizards would call it. But mostly he'd been forced to do so because in the busy cities and crowed towns he'd found himself renting small flats or one-bed hotel rooms. It was a major catastrophe trying to seek away without being caught _and_ trying to find a safe place to complete the Change in, so much so that he found himself often forgoing doing so until the last possible moment. And even then, it required so much planning and caution that he was often left too exhausted to repeat the experience more than once a week.

You could say he was out of practice. Maybe he should have told Fenrir when he said they'd have to become wolves for the hunt, but he couldn't. Firstly, because that would be like submitting to him and that was something he'd spent his entire life as a wolf avoiding at all costs, and because, well, honestly, he was embarrassed.

After all, what sort of werewolf couldn't transform at will?

Given the choice between the agony of forcing the Change and admitting to Fenrir and the others that he could no longer transform at will, he'd rather willing put himself in position of being the omega of the pack. Physical pain fades faster than wounded pride after all.

It took a little over half an hour for him to complete the process, triple the normal amount of time. It started with the dull irritation beneath his skin as he focused his will onto the Change, there was a sensation, familiar but not comfortable, travelling the length of his bare legs and he curled his toes to see if it would stop. It didn't. He hears a howl close-by and he knows it's Nick, not-so-patiently waiting for him to join the others – the irritation has crystallized into a sharp burn by that point. And then he feels it, finally. His skin stretching; pulling, tearing, _ripping_. The sensation deepens, to his muscles first, they ache as the Change shifts them, changing them, forcing his bones to dislocate moving them into the correct positions for his wolf. The sensation from his legs has travelled higher by now, it's reached his arms, causing them to cramp and flinch, tighten and release, and up to the back of his neck. Soon. Soon. He tries to block the pain. It's familiar, but still; painful. He inhales deeply and focuses all of his attention on the Change, dropping to the ground before he's doubled over and forced down. It's never easy, not like it is with the others – perhaps he's still too human? Harry's not sure if that's irony or not.

In the struggle to keep his thoughts straight, Harry tries to anticipate each new phase and move of his body, and positions himself as such to lessen the pain and keep it as minimal as is possible. Head down and on all fours, his arms and legs straight and feet and hands flexed – back arched. His leg muscles knot and convulse. He gasps, in shock maybe, and strains to relax. Sweat breaks out, sticky and hot against his skin, following the arch of his back and tracing the curve of his cheeks, but the muscles finally relent and untwist themselves. Next comes the ten seconds of _pure hell_ that used to make him swear bloody murder and curse the moon – he'd pledge his magic once that he'd rather die than endure this pain ever again, luckily his magic didn't create an actual bond or he'd be dead right now.

And then it's over.

A howl calls for him, not the distinctive wolf howl he was used to, that would be to conspicuous after all given the circumstances, but a mimic of a dogs howl. He barks a laugh and stands, stretching in his new but familiar form and he blinks. When he looks around, the world has mutated into an array of colours unknown to the human eye; blacks and browns and greys with subtle shadings that his brain still converts to blues and greens and reds. Harry lifts his nose and inhales, with the Change, his already keen senses sharpen even more, deadly, and he's able to pick up the fresh scents of newly laid asphalt and the disinfect that the dumpsters he still hidden between reeks of but he can smell the old scents of day-old human sweat and blood that someone spilt from inside the medical clinic and a million other things, all mixing together in an odour so overwhelming that he coughs and shakes his head.

As he turns he catches the distorted fragments of his own reflection in the dumpster beside him, absentmindedly he knows it was him that caused the dent – it hadn't been there when he first sneaked into the unlit alley. His own eyes stare back at him, more amber than jade now that the Change has been complete, they be like that for a few days after he transforms back too. He curls his lips back and snarls at himself. White fangs flash in the reflective surface of the dumpster. He was only 240-pounds in his wolf form, still quite small when he compared himself to the other males of the pack, though privately he was quite smug to know that he'd grown a good few inches in both bulk and strength over the two years alone. His fur was black, ebony, with tuffs of soft fur the colour of copper, his mothers hair, around his chest and a small ring circling his each of his large paws. The only part of him that really remains of his human side in this form are his eyes, the green of his human were hypnotic against his wolf's amber and they sparked with a cold intelligence and a simmering ferocity that could never be mistaken for anything but human. He was confident in the thought that he looked deadly, but, nowhere near as deadly as he truly was.

Harry looked around, inhaling the scents of the town again. _Their town_. His brain is dulled, disoriented not from his transformation of the form he's now taken but by the unnaturalness of his surroundings. He's nervous here, it's too close, too confined; it reeks of human spoor. But they were needed here – this was where the hunt was tonight – not for prey, but for the trespassing mutt. A low growl vibrated through his form and he thought he might have seen the dumpsters tremor. He shakes his large head, knowing he has to focus and heads for where he knows the others are waiting. He sees Fenrir first, lying on his stomach by the entrance to the alley with his front paws supporting his head – his amber eyes are unblinking as he protects the alley. Harry watches as his large head rises when he hears him approaching, dark brown fur highlighted by silver, and Fenrir's amber eyes look so dark they're almost black when they look at him. His alpha is pleased; Harry could see it – hear it. Werewolves shared some small form of telepathy within their packs, not enough for them to hold a conversation but enough to feel their packmates emotions, glimpse at what they could see and sometimes, rarely, smell what they could too. They butted heads in greeting, rubbing their scents on each other and nuzzling into the others neck before Fenrir leaves him with a cold touch of his mussel and an affection nip to his ear. He circles him once, inspecting him silently before trotting of to take him to Nick and Anya.

The hunt had officially begun.

–

Harry started his search in a subdivision of old row-houses that hadn't been converted into condos and probably never would be, he doubted the decorator or even the paint on the old front doors had ever been changed from when they were first built. It was past ten o'clock, but the streets were already deserted. The children had been yanked away from their beloved local playground, that consisted of little more than a few broken swings and an old rusted slide, hours ago by anxious parents and even the adults had taken cover once the sun had set.

Despite the warm May night, the humans didn't sit out on their porches or shot hoops in their driveways, they didn't drink a cool beer out in their gardens and they didn't watch the stars for no other reasons than they could, as was usual for them to, but instead the all that could be seen was the wavering blue light of televisions flashing against drawn curtains. It was a sight that was mirrored up and down every lane and street he had past so far – sitcom laugh tracks blaring through the still night, offering some small form of escapism for the tense and uneasy humans.

Evergreen Valley was afraid.

But it made their task easier at least, Harry supposed as he stole along the front of the townhouses, hidden between the crumbling brickwork and the foundations of shrubbery of the next house. At each doorway he paused, sticking his dark muzzle out from the cover of the shadows and sniffed, inhaling deeply, before quickly scampering across to the safety of the next string of bushes when the scents relieved nothing more other than the humans he already knew where hiding in their homes. Every flash of a car-light or loud noise made him freeze. His heart thudded, tripping with nervous excitement – there was little fun in this, little Caleb had been so eager to insist upon earlier, but the danger only added an element to the hunt he hadn't experienced in years. If he were to be seen, even for a second, he was in trouble. He was a wolf skulking around a town in the throes of a collective nightmare about wild dogs – a single glimpse of his hind leg or a flash of his shape silhouetted against a drawn blind would bring out the shotguns in their hundreds.

Over an hour later, Harry was midway through his fourth lane of the old row-houses when a _click-clicking_ stopped him cold. He pressed himself against the cool brick of the house he was standing by and lowered himself into a crouch, making sure his large bulk was hidden in the shadows of the house as he listened. Someone was coming down the sidewalk, clicking with each step they took. Fenrir? He'd better not have. Even if hunting together might have been more fun – Harry knew from pass experiences that it probably would have been, for even during all of his years travelling the around the world and learning and experiencing new things from different cultures, he had never found anything more exhilarating than being with his pack as they hunted under their mother moon – but it was Fenrir who had instructed them to work separately, so they cover more ground, and even if he was alpha, he shouldn't disrespect his own word so easily. Harry backed himself deeper into the shadows, staying low on his stomach and only stopping between the boughs of a cedar, he peered out, amber eyes flashing through the shadows and saw a young woman hurrying up the sidewalk, heels clacking against the concrete.

He was almost tempted to relax in relief, until he released how close he was to being exposed.

The girls wore a uniform of some kind, a short sleeved shirt and polyester skirt that barely covered her ample hips with a long jacket that smelt faintly of male cologne. She was clutching a cheap imitation-leather handbag, her old black stilettos most likely bought from the same place, and she was moving as fast as her three-and-a-half-inch heels would allow. With every few steps she would glanced nervously over her shoulder before walking that little bit faster, holding the large jacket against her in a tighter grip. Harry sniffed the air and caught a faint whiff of _Obsession_ perfume overladen with the stink of grease and cigarette smoke – she was most probably a diner waitress coming home after her shift, she couldn't have been any older than seventeen, and her behaviour clearly spoke of her not having expected darkness to have fallen so completely before she reached her house. As she drew closer, Harry smelled something else. Fear. Untainted, unmistakable _fear_. He prayed she wouldn't run. She didn't. With one final, fearful glance back at the street she scurried into her house and locked the door.

Harry went back to work.

A few minutes later, a howl rang out. Fenrir. Like before, he didn't use the distinctive wolf howl, which would have certainly roused attention with the humans so tightly wound and easily frightened, but instead mimicked the cry of a lonely dog. He'd found something. Harry waited. When a second howl came, he used it to pinpoint Fenrir's location – then he started to run. He kept to the gutters, but didn't worry so much about staying out of sight, at his current pace anyone who happened to spot him would see nothing but a flash of dark fur or a blurry shadow – they would probably convince themselves that it was their minds playing tricks on them either way, rather than face the truth of what might be terrorising their town at night.

He ran into an obstacle when he hit the main road and realized he had to cross it. While not many locals were still out, the main road was also a state highway, meaning truckers sped through regularly every few minutes. Harry sat, and waited, _like an obedient little puppy_, for a big enough gap between the heavy loaders and semis before darting across – the sharp wind of the passing truck that nearly hit him graze his tail and hind legs and he growled back at the driver when the human blared his horn in annoyance.

On the other side was Fenrir's assigned district, a subdivision of aging wartime houses and duplexes – many were abandoned by families who'd skipped town in search of _a better life_ and a few of the better condominiums could often be found up for rent for the unlucky tourists passing through who found themselves with car trouble or stranded due to cash-flow problems. As Harry tried to find his alphas scent, he caught another, one that made him skid to a halt, his rear legs sliding forward and causing him to tumble backwards – he was only glad his packmates hadn't been there to see his clumsiness as he raised himself to his feet again. He retraced his steps, mussel to the cold ground beneath him and inhaling deeply as he tried to find the scent again.

There, at the junction of two streets, Harry smelled a werewolf; someone he didn't recognize. The trail was old, but clear. He, for the scent was definitely a _him_, heavy with testosterone and lingering pheromones – meaning he was possibly going through or maybe even just ending a mating-heat, had passed this way more than once. He gazed down the street, it was still in the general direction of where he'd heard Fenrir, and while he couldn't ignore a call from his alpha, the wolf in him wouldn't allow him to even if he tried, especially in this form, but he could take a longer route to finding him. Technically, he wasn't disobeying. Just delaying, slightly. He gave a small nod to himself and changed course, following the mutt's trail with his tail erect and his shoulders hunched, he wondered what he looked like, a dark shadow with haunting glowing eyes hunting in the dead of night, nose low to the cold ground as he tracked his prey.

He snorted at the image he'd created in his mind.

The scent led him to a single-level brick house with aluminium-sided additions on the back, the front yard was small and freshly cut, but creeping weeds were actively competing for space with the grass and they crept up out of the cracks of the short walkway to the front of the house. Garbage was piled up next to one of the gatepost at the front of the building and the odour of rotting and stale food made him wince. Judging but the three mailboxes out front, there were three apartments – but only one in use if the unchecked mail in the second slot was any indication. The house was dark, there were no blue lights of a television flashing or the soft sounds of a radio playing, and he couldn't hear any sounds of life from within the building – the closed curtains mimicked the scared behaviour of the rest of the town but somehow, somehow it seemed different. _Wrong_. Harry snuffled along the sidewalk, still keeping to the shadows, and sneezed. He cursed mentally. The entire surrounding area was submersed with the scent of werewolf and he couldn't tell where one trail ended and the next began. In the end, the distinguishing factor was age. The mutt had been past here regularly for several days.

In his excitement at finding the mutt's apartment he didn't see the shadow slip beside him until it was kneeling beside him. He swung his head up with a snarl curled over his deadly teeth only to see Fenrir, in human form. He growled in annoyance but back down. Fenrir only smiled at the displeasure that was no doubt clear in his eyes, reaching down to run a large, calloused hand through the fur behind his head. The temptation to close his eyes let his tail mimic the rapid beating of his heart was there, to allow himself to sit at his alpha's feet and relax, to _melt_ even, under his attention, but he couldn't. Harry snapped at him with an added growl before diving into the bushes.

After Changing back into his human form, he stepped out. "You know I hate that," he muttered, raking his fingers through his tangled hair and tugging the newly acquired knots free with a few harsh movements of his hand. "When I'm Changed, either you stay Changed or you respect my privacy. Petting me doesn't help." One day, Harry knew Fenrir would have enough with the way he spoke so disrespectfully to him. He would be forced to discipline him, whether it was in private or in front of the pack, he wouldn't care, the need to answer his wolf's urge to reaffirm his place as alpha of the pack would no doubt be painful if he continued to ignore it. Harry had witness Fenrir discipline his packmates in the past, it wasn't the nicest thing to watch or to see but it was a necessary of the pack dynamics – but Fenrir had always avoided doing the same with him, so far. Harry wondered though, as Fenrir's still amber eyes from his recent transformation glowed viciously in the night, if now was that time.

He watched on baited breath as Fenrir breathed in deeply before exhaling slowly. "I wasn't _petting_ you, cub. _Goddess_, even the smallest gesture-" He stopped himself, inhaled sharply and then started again. "This is the mutt's place, the rear apartment, but he isn't here."

"You've been inside?"

"I was checking things out and waiting for you."

"Where are the others?"

"Anya's guarding the perimeter and exits to and from the building and I sent Nicks to gather the rest of the pack and bring them back here." Harry nodded, aside from himself Nick was the packs fastest runner and while Harry might not have been the largest of the wolves amongst his packmates, the war had taught him to be vicious and kill efficiently when he needed to. He saw the shadows move on the other side of the street and caught a fleeting glance of pale fur and knew that Anya was patrolling the surrounded area. He paused, looking down at Fenrir's naked body, then at his own. If he were still human he knew his current situation would have him blushing like a little virgin and attempting to cover himself from the indecency of the situation, as a werewolf however, he found he didn't much care. Still.

"I don't suppose you thought to get clothing while you were standing around?"

"You expect me to find something on a clothesline at this hour? Sorry, darling. Anyway, this has its advantages. If someone comes out, I'm sure you can convince 'em not to call the cops on us." He snorted and walked around to the rear apartment door. It was secured only with a key lock. A sharp twist and jerk on the handle broke that, he'd barely pushed the door open a crack when the fetid odour of rotting meat hit him – he gagged and swallowed back the urge to heave. The place smelled like a charnel house, or, at least, it did to him, to a human, they probably wouldn't have been able to smell a thing.

The warmth radiating from Fenrir's chest was what urged him inside in the end; he always stood to close, though werewolves rarely seemed to have any concept of personal boundaries. He was blinded against the smell. If one whiff was overpowering then the inside of the building was unbearable.

The front door opened into a decent sized living area that looked like a stereotypical bachelor's place; unwashed and dirtied clothing strewn across the threadbare sofa set, empty beer cans stacked like a house of cards in the corner, a few crushed and scattered across the putrid browned-yellow carpet, open pizza boxes with the remaining crusts left untouched littered the corner table and a small stack of cash sat partly hidden under the cover of the old television magazine on the small coffee table in the centre of the room. But none of that was the source of the foul stink. The mutt had killed here. There was no sign of a body, no splattering of blood or a corpse to be seen, but the overpowering smell of old blood and rotted flesh gave it away. He'd brought someone back to his apartment, killed her, and kept her around a day or two before dumping the remains – maybe even feasted of her while he admired his kill.

Fenrir started into the main room, closing the door quietly behind him before moving onto checking in the closets and under furniture for any clues to the mutt's identity. Harry followed. Although he hadn't been about to recognize his scent he might be able to figure out who he was with a few hints, namely a passport of ID card of some sort, maybe even a t-shirt with his hometown name on it that he might like to keep with him – it was the small things people, humans, wizards and mutts alike, often dismissed or forgot as important. When he didn't find anything he moved into the bedroom of to the right where Fenrir was on the floor, looking under the bed. As Harry walked in, he pulled out a length of golden blonde hair with the scalp tissue still attached, tossed it aside, and kept searching for something more interesting. Harry stared at the bloody clump with a feeling of his undigested dinner turning uncomfortably in his stomach while Fenrir paid as much attention to it as he'd pay to a dirty tissue, much more concerned with soiling his hands than anything else. As brilliant as Fenrir was, he couldn't understand why killing humans was taboo. Harry thought maybe it had something to do with being turned, and miraculously surviving, as young as he had. Being raised by the pack and so many other werewolves and never having learnt the morals that the humans lived by might have also been contributing factors. Fenrir didn't slaughter innocent people, any more than the average person would swerve his car to intentionally hit a deer grazing by the road, but if a human posed a threat to the pack, his instincts told him to take whatever action was necessary. The Ministry restrictions however forbade him to kill any human no matter the situation, even though they knew nothing of werewolf law or their society, and the risk of having the wizards interfering or splitting his pack apart, maybe even killing them, was why Fenrir avoided kill the humans and wizards and for that reason and no other.

"Nothing," Fenrir growled, his voice muffled before he pushed himself up from the floor and backed out of the bedroom. "How about you?"

"Same. He knows enough to keep his place clear of ID."

"But not enough to keep his hands off the locals."

"Hereditary, but young." Harry concluded, frowning as he thought. "He smells new, but no new bitten werewolf could have that kind of experience so he must be young; young and cocky. Daddy's taught him the basics, but he hasn't got enough experience to keep his nose clean or stay off another pack's territory."

"Well, he's not going to live long enough to gain that experience. His first screw-up was his last." Harry knew Fenrir's words were true, in all honesty, he doubted the mutt would survive the night. "Bet I can guess where the mutt spends his evenings," Fenrir said, a dark smile teasing his lips as he handed Harry one of the two matchboxes from the coffee table that Harry noticed had a dusting of cigarette ash littering across the pile of scattered magazines and almost filling the mug the mutt had obviously decided to use instead of an ashtray; there was an uncapped lipstick sitting in the same mug too, rougè in colour. The mutt hadn't had any probably picking his meals then. "If he's too dumb to have not skipped town already then we can probably find him out scouting for dinner at the local meat markets." Harry looked at the matchbooks. The first was for Rick's Tavern, one of only three licensed establishments in the area, and the second was a cheap brown matchbox with an address rubber-stamped on the back and a phone number written in biro pen scribbled on the front. Harry memorized both the addresses and the phone number, since they couldn't take anything with them, being a bit short of pocket-space and all.

Harry nodded; it would be worth checking out at least if the pack hadn't come up with anything else by the time they regrouped. He chucked the matchboxes back onto the coffee table and continued looking around apartment – they were doing a last sweep of the living area when Harry heard a copy of the disguised howl Fenrir had used earlier that same night. He froze, amber eyes catching Fenrir's as they listened. The distant sound of an old, rackety engine and screeching wheels approaching at a speed far about Evergreen Valley's 35-mile-per-hour limit had him closing his eyes with his head thrown back, praying to the Goddess that it wasn't what he thought it was. The mutt was returning home. "Fenrir – alpha, we need to get out of here." Fenrir stood by the window closest to the front door, index finger moving the drapes of the closed curtain a minimal about as he peered out at the darken street, his amber eyes flashing as watched and waited. The sound of a car coming to a sudden stop at the front of the house was followed instantly by the loud kick the engine gave as it was shut down, which drowned out the low murmurs of voices he could hear from within the car outside that he could only guess was an old pickup truck locally bought – no doubt bought with the thought in mind to help the mutt blend in. He was no longer just trespassing anymore, he was challenging Fenrir's claim on their territory, moving himself in and integrating himself into _their_ town without asking for permission from the alpha or announcing his arrival to the pack. Harry doubted Fenrir would let the mutt live even if he begged. "We can't take him on our own," amber eyes flashed at the almost-challenge, "shouldn't we regroup with the pack and-"

"No. Nick is gathering the pack and most likely already heading back by now. It will only take us longer if we leave to find them as well, they'll arrive here and have to follow our trail back to us before we can fully regroup only to then head back here again. It makes no sense. No. Anya will tell them of the situation when they arrive and they will wait until we can attack safely."

"So, we'll wait?" Harry asked. The chances of a clean escape back onto the street without being caught or spooking the mutt was slim and he didn't doubt Fenrir was thinking they hide in the house, right under the mutt's nose. It was an ultimate insult to any werewolf's skills, mutt or not.

Fenrir nodded once, ember eyes glowing once again as his thoughts lingered on the upcoming hunt that they would soon be executing, Harry could feel his alpha's thoughts brushing against his mind and he almost grinned at the bloodthirsty revenge that got confused along the shared thoughts and twisted into his own emotion.

"He reeks of alcohol, if we are luckily the mutt will have drunk enough to dull his senses and he won't smell us before he gets to the door." Fenrir frowned, a rare expression on his face. "Unless he's a complete novice, there's no chance of him missing our scents the moment he opens that door." Fenrir moved with slow but sure movements, each foot placed in front of the other with purpose and carefully planning as he sort out the places on the carpeted floor that wouldn't creak and give their presence away. He moved like a predator stalking his prey. His arm reached out and curled around Harry's muscled upper-arm, gently pulling him to him and leading him away from the living area and into what looked to be a mostly unused kitchen. Harry was careful to only step where his alpha had, not wanting to mistakenly make any small noise or sound, and when Fenrir tugged him down so he was sitting on the cold titles of the kitchen floor, hidden by the three-quarter wall that separated the kitchen from the living area, he bit his bottom lip in an effort to hold in the shocked hiss as his bear arse hit the cold titles of the floor. "Cub," Fenrir voice was low, barely above a whisper, but still demanding as ever. "Can you cover our scents before the mutt gets here?" Somehow, whenever it was him Fenrir was speaking to, he managed to make his demands seem like questions that he had a choice in answering affirmative or not. But Harry knew, in reality the only one who had ever made any choices concerning the pack had always been and would always be Fenrir.

Harry frowned at the question. Wandless magic was technically impossible for wizards, their magical cores weren't large enough to deal with the influx of magic they would need to successful complete such a feat and they weren't in tune with the world around them to know or control how their magic would affect the elements around them once they released it from their cores. Werewolves were another matter all together. They were two beings in one, with two cores that were bound together to created one – for a wizard turned wolf this meant one of two things; either an increase of magic, as there wolf mimicked the core the human had already had, or a decrease of magic, as the wizard's core was split to support his wolf. For Harry, who had already held an enormous core of magic, it was the former. And, while wizards weren't in tune with the world they had been gifted with and so foolishly destroyed, werewolves most definitely were, they were the children of Lunar, their mother moon and Goddess, and they respected and desired to learn everything they could of the world around them. So, while wandless magic was technically impossible for wizards, for a werewolf with enough power, it _was_ possible. It just _hurt_. Not to mention it seriously drained his core whenever he attempted to do so, but he could see the practical need and so, with a few whispered words and a gentle flexing of his fingers he watched as a faint dusting of his magic erased his and Fenrir scents from the building – as if they'd never been there in the first place. "Well done." The quietly whispered words spoken so close to ear sent the tiny hairs on the back of his next standing to attention and the skin of his arms tickled with gooseflesh at the approval in his alpha's voice. It was rather disgusting, not to mention ironic, how he still longed for Fenrir's approval even after spending so many years denying the very same thing – to the point that he'd travelled the world and avoided his pack for months to years at a time to make sure he didn't fall into the role his submissive wolf would have loved nothing more than to allow.

The sound of keys jingling in a shaky hand and the metal of a key scratching the wood of the front door before finally sliding cleanly into the lock stopped him from sighing, Harry decided on rolling his eyes in the dark of the kitchen instead. He waited, breathing low and short in an attempt to disguise it from oversensitive werewolf hearing, and he watched through the reflective metal of the cabinets as the front door opened with a loud bang and a young man stumbled in with a woman a few years older than him clinging to his neck and giggling loudly.

The mutt had brought himself a meal home. Harry nose scrunched up as if he'd smelt something foul on the air, though all he could really smell was her lust and his mounting excitement, neither of which was horrible _per say_ but neither of which was exactly _pleasant_ either. He caught a whiff of _Born Wild_, a sweet-ish smelling perfume that was clean and inoffensive, it had always reminded him of peaches for some reason and Harry loved it for no other reason that it was Ginny chosen favourite and he'd always associated that smell with her. He also caught a heavy smell of cologne, something rich and elegant that sat heavily on the air, and the overpowering scent of cigars and smoke. He'd picked her up at Teddy's then, it was the only other licensed establishment in town and was notorious for its customers who went to order cigarette or cigars in favour of alcoholic beverages. None of the smells or scents were particularly unpleasant, but in all honesty the longer he stayed hidden in the dark kitchen the more disgust he could fell building higher on his chest and unease twisting tightly around his stomach as he listen to the sounds of wet kisses and giggling-laughter as the pair only separated for short moments to gasp in desperate lungfuls of air.

"Brandon." It was a breathless whisper, full of lust and misplaced awe, but the mutt had a name now. Brandon. The mutt hummed in answer to his name but otherwise didn't reply. His foot swung out slowly in a precise movement and kicked the front door closed without ever looking up from the human's whose ear and jawline he was currently working on. His eyes were open and focused, a dull amber in the reflective surface of the kitchen cabinets but Harry could tell at least they were void of any affects of the alcohol Fenrir had smelt on him earlier. Brandon angled his head so as to allow himself the freedom he needed to suck on the woman's neck, successfully distracting her enough to gently guide her towards his empty bedroom without her noticing – the door of which had been left wide open and Harry felt a short bout of fear, unable to remember if it had been open when they arrived or if they had foolishly left it so when they'd rushed to hide from the mutt. Harry could only hope that the mutt would be too preoccupied to notice anything amiss about the apartment.

A sudden image brushed against his mind of Nick, his body mass largely increased in his wolf form and his pale fur dirtied by the muddied water he had raced through the find the pack. His ears lay flat against his head, lips curled into a snarl and his muscles aching as he pushed himself faster. He was leading both halves of their regrouped pack along the river that ran through far east side of town, they were approaching the shrubbery's of the old row-houses that Harry had been checking out before Fenrir had called for him – Sirius was close at his hind legs but Adrian was also giving chase for leader of their large pack as they tracked their scents back to the mutt's apartment. They would be here soon.

A large, heavily muscled arm encircled his bare shoulders and pulled him back slightly so he was leaning against Fenrir's larger chest, sharing that little bit of warmth that stop the light shivers that had been tracing his limbs and leaving him with gooseflesh – the walls were cold after all, the blue tiles leaving icy imprints on his back from being pressed up against them so long. Turning his head, Harry could see the worry that was carefully hidden in Fenrir's eyes as he kept a constant, sharp attention on the situation around them, his face frowning and lips curled down in displeasure. He didn't like hiding from mutt, but he knew better than to attack with a human so close and the mutt so near an easy exit.

"Brandon. The b-bedroom?" Harry watched the proceedings through reflective surface of the cabinets once again, feeling like a slight voyeur even as he did. He watched the pair as they twisted and tumbled into the nearby wall, her back arched and his mouth licking at her collarbone. He watched as the human pulled the mutt's shirt out from his pants with shaking hands before they disappeared underneath the material of his shirt, his moans adding a deeper tenor to hers as she ran her hands over his light muscles and Harry found he had to resist from rolling his eyes as the woman moaned loudly, again, as the mutt fondled her through her sheer shirt and lace-bra. Maybe it was because he himself was a submissive wolf and knew he would be in her place in any relationship he was in, but he couldn't find the attraction to her loud moans and half-screaming gasps for breath, or the constant tossing of her head that flung her bright, dyed-red hair into the mutts face, or the ample breast that the mutt was running his dull nails over, or her slim hips that he was rutting against, or _anything_ about her. But then again, he'd never found a female attractive before either so maybe it was each to his own or some such rot.

"Who needs the bed?" The mutt's voice was a deep, rough tenor but Harry wasn't sure if it was because of his lust or if it really was his natural voice. He turned his face away from the human and Harry caught his first flashing-glance of mutts face in the reflective surface of the cabinets. He had acorn brown hair, a slender build with underdeveloped muscles, and a scrubbed, whole-some face and with no facial hair – the quintessential college kid, right down to the Doc Martens and chinos. He looked the least prepossessing werewolf Harry had yet to meet, and surely, _this_ couldn't be the mutt causing all the trouble? This baby-face brat who had the entire pack out searching all over Evergreen Valley to find? _This_ couldn't be the cocky-arrogant-upstart that had them looking over their shoulders and watching their backs for an attack? _This_ couldn't be the foolish mutt who had trespassed and _killed_ on their land?

It was unbelievable.

There was a dark chuckle that followed the mutt's words and then a loud noise as the pair knocked over the beer cans that had been stacked like a house of cards in the corner of the room, Harry heard the mutt sigh quietly before the sound of small hands hitting the surface of the wall and another loud noise caused him to look at the pair again. The mutt, Brandon, had lifted the woman up by her waist and hitched her legs around his hips, taking the weight for both of them on his steady legs and causing her shirt to hike up around her arse, giving Harry the unfortunate clear-view of the mutt's long fingers twisting inside of her while he used his thumb to rub her clit. On the bright side, at least the woman had shut up with her moans and desperate whimpers, as well as her quite begging and nonsensical murmurs – _thank the Goddess_. Now she just held onto the mutt's short hair in tight fists and allowed her head to fall back onto the wall behind her with her eyes closed and mouth opened in a silent, breathless gasp. Harry looked to Fenrir, hoping for some sort of compassion maybe for the situation they found themselves in, but he should have known better really, the older wolf just sat behind him with an almost amused smirk on his face and held him a little tighter. Harry rolled his eyes at him but nodded when Fenrir mouthed the word '_soon_', glad to know that this _mutt_ would be dealt with shortly. But not soon enough if the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin were anything to go by.

"_Perfect_."

"B-Brandon."

"Are you ready, baby? Are you ready for me?" Baby, not a name. Then again, saying the wrong name or calling the wrong one out in throes of such passion would most likely be a major turn off, and Harry sincerely doubted if the mutt had actually bothered to remember the human's name.

"More. J-just more. _Please_. Anything. S-something. Ju-ust _more_." She was practically crying.

Harry had to make sure not to allow himself to vomit, though the want and unpleasant burn in his throat was there, but to give into the urge would mean giving their position away and then everything they had been through would have been completely worthless. He sighed mentally and relaxed back into Fenrir to wait it out. The woman screamed in pleasure. His left eyes twitched. Oh, how he wanted to growl at the pair of them.

* * *

Fans self. Well. What can I say? '_Go Brandon_'?

I described two different scents of cologne/perfume in Brandon's apartment; the first I described as 'something rich and elegant that sat heavily on the air'. I was actually trying to describe (poorly) the cologne my best guy-friend wears called _Woods_ by _Abercrombie and Fitch._ It's unfortunately now discontinued so I have no idea how he still has a full bottle left and his girlfriend has often referred to it as "orgasm in a bottle" – take that how you will. The second was _Born Wild_ (Ed Hardy) that our mysterious woman is wearing. She doesn't have a name, so let's just call her Sheryl for now, yeah? On that note, the description I gave for _Born Wild_ was 'a sweet-ish smelling perfume that was clean and inoffensive, it had always reminded him of peaches for some reason and Harry loved it for no other reason that it was Ginny chosen favourite and he'd always associated that smell with her' which is completely true only that _I_ love it purely because I associate it with one of my close friends. The over perfume (_Obsession_ by _Calvin Klein_) is the perfume quite of few younger girls I know wear which I find quite nice.

Bla.

Leave a review if you have time and tell me what you think.

Much love: **Sketch**


	3. Part the Third

_Chapter Three; Part the Third._

Most werewolves didn't care to Change in front of others, even if they were packmates. And even in their pack, as close as they all were, most liked to make their transformations in private; it was a moment of vulnerability and pain, of a weakness that they didn't want to admit to having but, as always, Fenrir was the exception. He didn't care who saw him Change. To him, it was a natural state and therefore nothing to be ashamed of, even if the midpoint of a transformation turned you into something fit only for a freak show. For Fenrir, vanity was yet another bizarre and foreign human concept that he neither understood nor cared to learn. To him, nothing natural should need to be hidden. The bathroom locks at Stonehaven had been broken by their Alpha in one of his bizarre fits of non-rage soon after their arrival to their new hunting grounds; no one had bothered to fix them. Some things just weren't worth the effort of fighting Fenrir's nature. Most drew the line, though, when it came to Changing together but as Harry stared and watched the slowly transformation of his alpha he could understand somewhat, seeing the beauty of seeing the wolf take form.

When his Change was complete Fenrir lay with his head by Harry's feet and Harry smiled, reaching down to stroke his alpha's ear before pulling back, remembering his own words from earlier that night. He checked the refection of the cabinet again and glared at the pair who were still rutting against each other with loud moans and half-screams of pleasure. Harry now officially knew far too much about heterosexual sex then he had ever wanted to. He wondered if Remus would agree to treating him for trauma or to just _Oblivating_ his memory of tonight at the very least as he heard the woman scream out in orgasm for the fifth time in the last hour. He shivered.

There was a loud roar, sudden and terrifying and _fierce_ and Harry thought he heard the woman cry out in fright and scream in pain before there was a ripping sound followed by gurgled breathing and the scent of slat-tears and blood on the air. He watched without looking as Fenrir stood from his place hidden and curled around him in the small kitchen before stalking out into the living area and then suddenly Harry realised what was happen. "_Shit_." He stood, no longer caring for trying to remain hidden and he watched as the mutt drop his prey and lunged for Fenrir, his face contorted, jaw stiffening as the veins in his neck bulging irregularly. His face shimmered and rippled like a reflection in a barely flowing stream and his brow thickened as his cheeks sloped upward to meet his nose. The classic fear reflex of an untrained werewolf: Change.

Harry waited until the mutt was in mid-jump, then he turned and ran - of course Brandon followed, out of a choice between a fight between Fenrir and a fight with him the mutt most likely though his odds were higher if he chose the submissive wolf over the alpha. Of course, he wasn't to know that Harry left the door open for him to follow or that their pack was waiting for the attack on the other side of the back door. He circled towards the front of the apartment and witness Nick slamming into the mutt as Brandon tried to follow him through the clogged exit. Anya stood with her hunches raised and growling at the mutt as she watched her brother and alpha fight the trespassing wolf, she allowed him to pass without so much as a glance and Harry only got a glimpse at Sirius before he joined the fight – Remus close behind. He could see them now, the pack, the variety of furs and sizes all racing to the small backyard that couldn't fit them all and the mutt that was already down and bleeding.

A part of him was maybe upset that he didn't get the opportunity to join the final hunt but, like Anya and Logan and Peter, all of whom were protect the exits, he had his part to play and his packmates would deal with the threat while he kneeled in the shadows and hoped – prayed really, that the Change would take after having transformed already once tonight. He looked up at the sound of a loud whine.

Fenrir was there, scrapping with the mutt while the pack circled and bit and snapped at Brandon's hind legs whenever he tried to escape. This was their judgment, survive and live – only no one had ever lived from such a harsh fate. Brandon was stood in front Fenrir with his head down and legs wide-set apart, ready for the fight but already knowing he had lost. His nostrils flared, his eyes uncertain. His nose told him Fenrir was a dominant werewolf and an alpha at that, and some dimly functioning part of his brain realized this was cause for concern; he growled experimentally. Fenrir's front paw shot out in a blur of movement to human eyes, caught him under the muzzle, and knocked him flying onto his backside. Brandon scrambled to his feet, wheeled, and bolted.

Fenrir ran after him but by the time they had caught him he was closer to Harry than any of them seemed to expect and in his human form, which made no sense – to any of them it seemed, as they stared for perhaps a moment too long. The mutt had more chances of surviving as a wolf, so why would he transform back into his human form? And then Harry understood, as the mutt feel to floor in front of him with his dislocated shoulder and torn limbs and bloodied face; he had no control. None at all. Not when he Change and not when he transformed back, it was dangerous, and not just for him. "I've heard a lot about you, _Harry Potter_." He stiffened at the name, he hadn't used his surname in years, deciding to use the pack name of Greyback instead even if it did only cause Fenrir to puff up with smugness whenever he heard it. "You are so beautiful, Harry. And do you know what you smell like to me?" Dully he realised the mutt's voice was naturally deep, even when he was in pain and on the verge of death. Brandon inhaled and closed his eyes. "_A bitch in heat_." He smirked over the sounds of Harry's packmates snapping and growling. Caleb attempting to move forward to attack but was stopped by Chris, always the more logical out of any of them. Brandon had placed himself in such a way that if any of the wolves were to attack him from his position at that moment that they would undoubtedly hurt Harry in the process. A dull, bloodied fingernail traced from his temple to his lips. "You and I could have a lot of fun together."

"I rather think you wouldn't like my kind of fun."

The mutt's smile turned predatory. "Ah. I've heard you don't get a lot of fun in your life, _cub_." The following growls at the endearment caused Harry to wince, "you've got this pack breathing down your neck, smothering you with all their stupid rules and laws and demands and summons. Forcing you to act like a good like puppy for them. A wolf like you, you deserve _better_. You need someone to teach you what it's like to kill, really kill. Not for _war_ or out of necessary for the _pack_, but a kill. A real kill; a thinking, breathing, conscious human. Not just to bring down some mindless rabbit or deer, but a _human_." He paused, then continued, "have you ever seen someone's eyes when they know they are about to die, at that moment when they realize _you are death_?" Brandon inhaled again, deeply and then exhaled slowly, the tip of his tongue showing through his teeth as he licked at his own blood coating his lips red. The mutt's eyes flooded with lust. "That's power, Harry. True power. I can show you that tonight." Moving to take a hold of Harry arms Brandon raised his gaze to the sky, urging him to do the same. "Pick someone, Harry. Pick anyone. Tonight they die. Tonight they're yours. How does that make you feel?" When he said nothing, Brandon continued. "Pick someone and imagine it. Close your eyes. Can you see it? Leading them out, taking them into the woods, using them, filling them, draining them – ripping out their throat_..._" A shudder ran through him. "Can you see their eyes? Can you smell their blood? Can you feel it between your fingers, your arms, chest – _everywhere_, soaking you. The power of life draining and pooling at your feet? It won't be enough. It never is. But I'll be there. I'll make it enough. I'll fuck you right there, in the pool of their blood. Can you imagine that?"

Harry caught Fenrir's eyes, engaged and rimmed with red as he snarled, lips curved over dangerous teeth and blood, the mutt's blood, dripping from his muzzle. Harry turned to look at Brandon and smiled up at him, saying nothing. Instead, he slid a finger down his chest and over his stomach. He could feel his pack righteous anger and Fenrir hurt shock but he pushed it aside. For a moment, he toyed with a small scar just above Brandon's belly button, then slowly slid his hand down a few inches and stroked the tender skin of his navel, tracing circles around his belly button as he moved back up and following the lines of old scars and new wounds. As he concentrated, he could feel his hand thickening, the nails lengthening – this was something Fenrir had taught him when he was still newly turned, a trick few other werewolves could do, changing only one part of the body. When his nails became claws, he scraped them over Brandon's stomach and smirked. "Can you feel that?" Harry whispered in a mockery of the voice Brandon had used moment before. "If you don't step the fuck away from me _right now_, I'm going to rip out your guts and feed them to you. That's my kind of fun." Adrian sat on the ground with a smug air to him as he turned to stare at his twin; he gave a sharp bark, a mockery of his human laugh, and his tongue lolled past his sharp teeth as the warm air from his quick breathes rolled against his muzzle. Caleb hardly notice but continued to growl at Brandon as the mutt jerked back at Harry's words. Harry held him tight with his free hand, using the rage he could feel burning within him to start his Change – he could see the moment Brandon realised what was happening. He growled and slammed him against the wall, forcing Harry's half-formed talons into his stomach, slicing through the skin cleanly and he coughed blood onto Harry face and Harry thought, even if it was false, that there was some kind of relief in the mutt's eyes when Fenrir's massive jaw wrapped around his head and pulled.

(o)

"I proud of you, cub. You handled yourself well, but I don't like the way you touched that mutt." The door closed behind Fenrir as he finished speaking and Harry sighed. He turned to look at Fenrir, then shrugged and headed down the hall while buckling the belt of the jeans Leah had handed to him when they'd arrived back to Stonehaven. "It was a means to an ends. Undesirable as it was." He grinned. "I'll just have to beat you to the kill tomorrow."

Fenrir pounced, knocking him onto the hardwood floor with a growl, amber eyes flashing with mirth. He stayed on top of him, pinning his arms to the floor and grinning down him, the excitement of the hunt still shining in his eyes. "You think so, cub? How about we play for it? You name the game."

"Poker!" Logan said, not at all fazed by situation his alpha and Harry were in. Harry glared. He tended to find himself pinned more often than not by one of his packmates so it figured that no one other than him would think anything of it.

Fenrir twisted to look up at him. "And what stakes are you playing for?"

Logan grinned. "The usual. It's been a long time." Fenrir laughed, got up, and lifted Harry into his arms.

"Deal."

When they got to Fenrir's room in the cool basement, Fenrir tossed him onto the bed and then headed to the small bar set up on the far left of his massive room to mix drinks while Caleb, Adrian, Cain, Sirius and Logan all crowed around Harry on the (stupidly) large bed. Anya entered the room a little after the others and jumped on top of Harry without a single moment's hesitation, wrapping her arms around him and pressing wet kisses to his face and cooing at him. Harry threw her off with a pout and struggled to up sit. "And what makes you think I'm going to play at all?" He asked.

"Because you missed us, cub." Caleb said. He made a show of unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off slowly, making sure Harry saw a good display of his muscles as he flexed to pick up the shirt he _mistakenly dropped_. Undressing was like some damned mating ritual with these guys, they seemed to think that the sight of a handsome face, muscular biceps, and a flat stomach would turn him into a helpless mass of hormones, willing to play their juvenile games. It usually worked, but that wasn't the point. Anya snorted from beside him and his pout feel a little heavier as he frowned. It was alright for her, she was a neutral, a wolf that could be either a dominant or a submissive depending on her partner, but he, Leah and Sirius were the only submissives in the pack, and Leah was the only one who _understood_ until she ran off to Rome and got herself knocked up. Bitch. "Now, Harry. You know what that pout does to me." Caleb teased with a wide grin. Harry answered with a _fuck you_ hand gesture. Sirius laughed from beside him and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Whiskey and soda?" Fenrir asked looking to Nick who's drink always seemed to change depending on the day of the week.

"_Purr_-fect." Nick groaned in pleasure, stretching out on the mattress behind Harry, bones cracking as he did, while Anya called out that she would like an Apple-Cider if there was one going and the twins of course had two vodka straights in their hands before they could ask. Sirius was a Rum-and-Coke man all-the-way (whatever that meant) and Cain and Logan opted for a can of beer each. Fenrir didn't ask Harry what he wanted, the Snakebite was the first drink poured and sat waiting on the side until Fenrir was finished with the others. "Hum." Harry narrowed his eyes when he felt Nick shift on the bed behind him, unsure of what the git had planned. He waited and then, with a gentle brush of his fingers, Nick shifted his hair before nibbling on his ear softly, warm breath still smelling faintly of the mutt's blood. Harry relaxed onto the bed. Werewolves related touch with trust, the more touch one werewolf allowed another meant the more they were trusted, and thus, the more affection that spun the circle around again. And, while Nick often kissed him, without permission, for no other reason that he could get away with it, and while he could usually be found sneaking into Harry's showers in the early morning, and while he found great amusement in making Harry blush – Harry did trust Nick. As Nick's lips moved down his neck, Harry twisted his face, nuzzling Nick's neck in return and inhaling the musky smell of him. He moved down to the hollow in Nick's collarbone and felt the other wolf's heartbeat leap. Nick jumped. Harry looked up to see Fenrir pressing a cold glass against Nick's back. He grabbed Nick's shoulder and yanked him off him. "Go find the cards," he said.

"Where are they?" Nick asked.

"Look. That'll keep you busy for a while." Fenrir sat down next to Harry's head and handed him his drink. Harry took a sip; of course it was perfectly made with just enough sweetness for his tastes. He smiled, tempted to say thank-you but he bit his tongue.

Fenrir gulped his own drink down in one and then leaned over him, a slow smile teasing the corners of his lips. "Perfect night, wasn't it?"

"It could have been." Harry smiled up at him. "But you were there. _So_..." he shrugged and smiled rather smugly amongst the laughter of his packmates.

"Which means it was only the beginning of a perfect night." As Fenrir leaned over him, his fingers brushed against his thigh and slid over his hip. The thick, almost palpable smell of him sent a slow burn radiating down from his stomach and Harry swallowed heavily. "You had fun," Fenrir said. "Admit it."

"Maybe."

Sirius bark-like laugh drew his attention and he watched as Nick jumped back on the bed, causing Anya to curse at him as she choked on her cider. "Playtime, kiddies. Are you guys sticking to your stakes? Winner tells Leah what really happened tonight?" Logan's lips curved in a small grin and Cain laughed while Harry wince – Leah would most likely kill whoever had the unfortunate task of telling her what the mutt had done to him, not to mention how overbearing she would be for months afterwards too. She tended to be fiercely protective of him normally, but with her pregnant and all hormonal and shit, who knew how she'd react.

Fenrir hummed. "No. I'm going for something else. If I win, Harry comes outside with me, to the woods."

"For what?" Harry asked. The smile on Fenrir's widened to show perfect, _sharp_ white teeth.

"Does it matter?"

"And if I win, what do I get?" He asked.

"Whatever you want, darling. If you win, you choose your prize. You can tell Leah what really happened, or you can take the kill tomorrow, or anything else you'd like." A few of them had planned a new hunt for tomorrow, for game this time, while the excitement for their kill tonight still lingered and the opportunity to take the kill was too much. Like a tamed dog tempted with a large, juicy bone.

"I can take the kill?" Harry asked, sitting up on his knees and leaning forward slightly in excitement. Fenrir threw his head back and laughed, loudly. Even Sirius chuckled a little.

"I knew you'd like that one. Sure, darling. You win and the kill is yours." That was an offer he couldn't resist. So they played. Fenrir won.

–

Harry followed Fenrir obediently into the woods, _like a good little puppy_, Brandon's words were taunting him as he let his alpha lead him further and further away from the pack and the relative safety of Stonehaven. He wondered at the mutt's words; was that how the rest of the world saw him, a chained 'beauty', restricted by the law of his pack? But, he had never felt like that before the mutt had spoken those damning words, so why should he suddenly start questioning it now. He shook his head. They been walking for a good half-mile north of the old stone house, into the denser parts of the forest that the pack's land consisted of and Harry found himself having to climb over outgrown tree roots and low branches more and more as Fenrir lead him deeper still. Nick and Caleb had attempted to come with them when Fenrir had first stood from the mattress and stretched, waiting not-so-patiently for Harry to follow, but one look from their alpha and they'd immediately sat back down on the mattress with the others, heads bowed and necks bared in submission. They'd stayed in the bedroom with the others without complaint after _one_ look from Fenrir – his reputation was as infamous as it was terrifying after all, a fact the entire pack only too well. A rather amusing fact was that the more the whispers and rumours of his latest victims spread the less work he actually had to do to maintain it, but, in all honestly the only rumour Harry had ever heard that he could say was a-hundred-percent truth was this: no one crossed the Greyback Pack and survived to tell the tale. Take the mutt tonight for example.

After another quarter-mile of walking they reached a clearing of no specific meaning or difference to the dozen others they'd already passed, but still, Fenrir must have seen something in it that he couldn't, for he stopped, turned around, and looked straight at him, saying nothing. "We can't." Harry shivered in cold the night air, stuffing his hands in his back pockets to hide their shaking. Fenrir didn't answer.

How many times had they replayed this scene? Standing just as they were now, with Fenrir's eyes still glowing amber from his most recent transformation, the cold winds of the moonlit sky lifting his long hair from his unshaven face and his brows frowned as Harry shook his head and turned away from him. Again. Why didn't he ever learn? Harry had known, _fuck, _of course he'd known how this would end the moment he picked up the those stupid fucking cards – he'd been unable to think of anything else throughout the game. But he still pick them up anyway. He closed his eyes, waiting, praying maybe, with his sharp teeth digging into the tender covering of skin of his lips. He could feel the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, could feel his lips fall into a familiar hurt-pout, he could feel his heart beating faster and – and then, Fenrir kissed him. Hard.

_Fuck._

Harry could feel the heat radiating of from Fenrir's body, burning to the touch but somehow it had only ever offered him comfort. It was so familiar he could drown in it, or cry. Or both. The rich scent of him, like a soft musk and the naturally grown herbs Mayra kept in the kitchen – thyme and something spicy that had always made him feel a little light headed – they swam through his brain, suffocating him in every possible way and as intoxicating as concentrated peyote smoke.

Harry felt himself succumbing to the smell, could feel his wolf whimpering for him to just _give in_, _just once_, but a small whispered voice cried out to him in alarm, and no matter how distant and distorted that voice felt to his addled mind, Harry listened, because they been here, they done this – he remembered only too clearly how this all turned out when they were finished. He moved back, attempting to break away from Fenrir's muscle arms that were wrapped around him like iron restraints, but he was more testing Fenrir's reaction than seriously resisting him. In response, Fenrir pushed him against a nearby tree, the sudden shock of rough bark scratching against the skin of his back through his too thin t-shirt causing him to gasp and Fenrir used it to his advantaged, bringing his lips back to his, kisses deepening. Large hands slid to his hips and gripped hard, angling their lower-halves against each other with a grip hard enough to bruise. Harry started to struggle in earnest but it was useless, Fenrir had pinned him between his body and the tree, his hold unbreakable. Harry growled low in his throat and kicked out at him, raising a knee in the hopes of shocking Fenrir enough that he would move back. He did.

Harry gasped for air, watching as Fenrir pulled back, shaking his head softly but the sudden dizziness cause Harry to lean back into the tree, head rested back against it, face titled towards the heavens and eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. He opened his eyes after a few silent moments of missing noise, no harsh breathing beside his own or the rustling of clothes as the material of Fenrir's top shifted as he breathed in deep breaths before exhaling slowly. The clearing was empty, and Fenrir was gone. As Harry's fogged brain struggled to process this, his arms were suddenly yanked behind his head in one effortless move that toppled him to his knees and had him staring at the grass that cushioned his knees in dazed confusion. "_What the_–?"

"Hold still," Fenrir said from behind him, his voice rough and sounding as if he'd just run the entire boarder of the town without pausing for a break or to grab himself a drink from one of the nearby streams. In was rather hypnotic in its own way, more wolf-like that Harry could ever remember hearing before. "I'm helping."

"Helping? Helping what?" Harry scowled and tried to pull his arms back down to his sides, with the thought in mind to punch Fenrir in the face once he did, but Fenrir held them tight – as if he knew what he was thinking. A whisper of sudden sensation fluttered across the outer skin of his forearm, flickering over his fingertips as if they were old lovers reacquainting themselves after an exceeded absence (the irony was not lost on him) before something soft and warm was slipped around his wrists. The sensation cause a shiver to run the length of his spine and goosebumps to rise on the skin of his arms. He bit back the whimper of his wolf and glared out into the forest, imagining that it was Fenrir that was victim to his glare and not the trees cloaked in darkness of the night. A sapling swayed overhead, and then Fenrir let go. Harry jerked his arms in a sharp movement but only managed to move a couple of inches before the cloth around his wrists snapped tight, pinching his skin slightly but nowhere near enough to break the skin or leave a mark. Werewolves' healed at an accelerated rate to humans anyway, what could kill a human would barely scratch a wolf and what would bruise a wizard would only leave a wolf with a faint stinging sensation. _Helping, right, helping himself maybe._ Once he was secured, Fenrir circled him once before kneeling over him, obviously far too pleased with what he was seeing if the smug air and arrogant smirk was anything to go by. Harry snarled at him, snapping his teeth angrily as if he could actually manage to get close enough to cause any real harm. "This isn't funny." Harry said, jaw clenched and teeth grounding against each other. "Untie me. Now."

Still grinning, Fenrir took hold of the top of his t-shirt and ripped it down the middle, the fine material it was made from only making his task all that easier. Harry's left eye twitched. He'd liked the top. Fenrir then moved to undo his belt, moving slowly and allowing every _clink_ of metal sliding through metal to ring in the small clearing before he pulled the zipper of his jeans down. He stopped at that, leaning back to stare at him with dark eyes. Harry started to say something, then stopped, inhaling sharply and gasping blindly for his missing breath. Fenrir had taken his nipple in his mouth and was teasing the it with his teeth, chuckling with the bud of Harry's left nipple still trapped between his sharp teeth at his reaction, which only caused the surrounded skin to pebble and rise as it was attacked by Fenrir's warm breath. A stinging dart of lust fogged Harry's brain. He gasped. Fenrir chuckled again and the vibrations sent a shivering tickle through Harry who knew he couldn't have passed the reaction of as a cause of the cold night's air on his bare skin even if he tried.

Fenrir shifted his knees so his stance was wider before licking a wide strip of skin across Harry's chest as he moved from on nipple to the next – Fenrir flicked his tongue and it sprung up, hard. Harry moaned a cry in response. "Is this better?" He whispered. "Since you can't fight me, you can't be expected to stop me. It's out of your control." Fenrir's hand moved from teasing his nipples with his dull nails to stroking down his chest and navel, moving lower with a frustrating slowness that almost had Harry crying out for more, _begging_ for something more – _anything_ more – than what he was already forcing upon him. He had an unbidden image of Fenrir's naked body straining over him brushing against his mind and he whimpered. The lust flared and Fenrir shifted around, facing him more evenly now, and Harry could feel Fenrir's erection slide up his thigh as his alpha continued to shift. He spread his legs a little bit and Harry felt the roughness of Fenrir's jeans brush against his own, it could have been an almost release on the building pleasure, to feel him lined up next to him – straining and hard and already leaking by the heady scent on the air, but he pulled back before Harry could achieve any of it. "Can you still feel tonight?" Fenrir whispered, bending over him until he was so close that his lips nipped at the shell of his ear with each word he spoke. "Running through the city with our Goddess protecting us – the hunt, the chase; _the_ _kill_." Harry shivered. "Where do you feel it?" Fenrir asked, his voice deepening and eyes burning an amber so dark that they reminded Harry of the colour of whiskey as they glowed with a phosphorescent light against the dark of the night. Fenrir's hands slid into his jeans, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of thighs before he slid them slowly over his hips – drawing out every action and reaction in every possible way. He touched the inside of his thigh again, this time on purpose, but only holding his fingers there just long enough to make Harry's heart skip. "Do you feel it here?" Fenrir slid his hand down to the inside of Harry's knees, tracing the path of the chills coursing through him and dull nails scratching over the gooseflesh his touch had caused.

Harry closed his eyes and finally allowed the images of the night to flow through his brain without restriction or fear; he remembered the locked doors, the thick curtains drawn over sealed windows, the silent streets, the empty playgrounds, the heavy scent of fear on the air. He remembered Fenrir's hand running through his fur, the spark of hunger in his eyes as he entered the mutt's apartment, the joy of racing through the city in the closes thing to being free that Harry could remember. _The kill_. He remembered feeling _proud_ as he watched the pack as they fought as one. He remembered the sticky, heavy feeling of the pooling blood on his hand as it sliced through the mutt's stomach. He remembered hearing Fenrir's terrifying roar as he lunged at Brandon.

The excitement was still there, pulsing through every part of his body – making him feel alive. It was, _intense_. "Can you feel it?" Fenrir asked, face so close to Harry's that he could taste Fenrir's breath as if it were his own – so warm and smelling faintly of the double whiskey he'd poured himself earlier that night before they'd settled down for the poker game. Spice and cinnamon, that's what he smelt like at that moment, _spice and cinnamon_. Harry started to close his eyes, his mind flashing back to his question of home. He'd always loved Fenrir's smell, it had always smelt like – "don't," Fenrir whispered, a half-demand and Harry's eyes, closer to amber than jade at that moment, flickered open instantly. "Watch me." Fenrir's fingers traced up his thigh, slowly, loving. _Oh_. Who he knew such a gentle touch could cause such immense amounts of pain to his bleeding heart, but he'd forgotten. This _hurt_. Deeply. Harry exhaled a shakily breath, eyes still staring into Fenrir's as his alpha toyed with the edge of his boxer-shorts for a long moment before circling behind his leg and palming his left arse-cheek in his large hand. Harry wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and arch into the touch, but both options would be like admitting defeat; like submitting. But fuck if he cared anymore. He leaned back, or as far as the binding around his wrists would allow, with his head thrown back and face tilting towards the sky once again, allowing the cold nights air to cool his flushed face, but he never once allowed his eyes to leave Fenrir's, and he waited, and waited. And even when the first finger entered him with that gentle pressure Fenrir always used, he was still waiting_. For what?_ He didn't know anymore.

Harry let out a gasp.

Fenrir had three fingers moving inside of him now, flexing and arching as they searched for his prostate, Fenrir's wrist twisting sharply each time as he pulled his long digits out at a slow, antagonizing pace before pushing back into him, all the while working another finger around the clenching muscles of his entrance. After all, Fenrir's girth was a lot thicker than three fingers.

Each time his fingers drove back into him Harry had to bit his lip a little harder to keep himself from crying out, so it wasn't all that surprising really that his teeth had sliced right through the soft skin of his bottom lip and caused a small trail of blood to fall from the corner of his lips, dropping warm droplets onto his chest and further. Fenrir moved forwards, licking the fallen droplets with a delighted growl and harder push of his fingers at the taste before raising himself so he could lick the blood from Harry's face and pull him into a desperate, devouring kiss.

It hurt, the sting from the open wound of his lip and the sharp nips Fenrir delivered to the still bleeding wound that insured it wouldn't heal just yet left him spinning, but somehow it only made it all that much better...the shortness of his breath, the difficulty he was finding himself in as he _tried_ to breathe, the tightness in his chest, the pain constricting around his heart as it thudded faster and faster and _faster_. Harry could feel the waves of his climax building when his brain suddenly (finally) kicked in and he realized what he was doing.

_Moaning like a bitch in heat_. He growled. _No_.

He struggled to pull back from Fenrir hand, but Fenrir kept it tight against him, fingers still moving in him and twisting and arching so perfecting and the tips of his fingers brushing his prostate and, _oh_ – his climax started to crest again, but Harry fought it, not wanting to give him that. He closed his eyes tight against Fenrir's ministrations and frowned as he tried to concentrate on anything other than how his fingers felt inside of him and, no, he growled again and jerked his arms hard against their bindings, feeling the skin around his wrists twist and brake slightly as he did.

The tree groaned, but the bindings held.

Suddenly, Fenrir's hand stopped and he moved away, carefully of course, he'd always made sure to be careful with him. The sound of a metallic whir of a zipper cutting through the night air was almost painful against the otherwise stark silence of the night and Harry's eyes flew open to see Fenrir pulling his jeans down over his hips, eyes focused solely on him. As he saw the hunger in Fenrir's eyes and his body, his hips moved up unbidden to meet him before he could control himself. Harry shook his head sharply, trying to clear it and twisted away.

Fenrir watched him with that same expression on his face before he bent down, his face coming to his once again, and a large hand cupping his face and making sure their eyes were connected before he started to talk. "I won't force you, Harry. You like to pretend I would, but you know I won't. All you have to do is tell me _no_. Tell me to stop. Tell me to untie you. And I will." Fenrir's hand slipped between his thighs, parting them before Harry had the thought or sense to clench them shut. Heat and wetness rushed out to meet him, his body betraying him and Harry felt his face flush, whether it's out of embarrassment or not he's unsure. "_My cub_," Fenrir's hand traced the lines of his body almost reverently and he glared, _that_, right _there_, that was the reason why he hated Fenrir calling him _cub_ – it wasn't an endearment to him as the youngest of the pack or as a loved one, as family, it was an endearment to him as a lover, a silent claiming the entire pack had taken their notice to and happily accepted. All apart from Harry of course, he rather liked the idea of being consulted on such things after all. "Tell me to stop," Harry felt the tip of Fenrir brush against his entrance, but he didn't go any further. "Tell me to stop," he whispered. "Just tell me."

Harry glared at him, hating him, but the words wouldn't come to him no matter how desperately he wished they would fall from his lips – because then Fenrir would be _wrong_ and then it would mean Harry didn't want him, _still_. They lay there for the longest of moments, eyes locked with neither of them daring to blink, and then Fenrir grabbed him from under his arms and pushed into him. Harry gasped a silent scream and his body convulses and for one long second, neither of them move – even to breath. Tears fall from Harry's eyes. He could feel Fenrir inside of him, his hips pressed intimately against his and their bare chests rubbing as Fenrir held him to him in a tight, unbreakable hold.

It was, _them_. Together.

Fenrir pulled back, slowly, carefully, and Harry's body protested loudly, moving involuntarily against him, trying to keep him with him and Harry thinks he even hears himself whimper. But Harry doesn't feel Fenrir leaving him, instead he feels Fenrir arms go over his head, to where he can't see them, and then his bindings jerk once, twice, and then they brake in tatters in Fenrir hands.

Fenrir thrust into him and Harry's resistance snapped.

Harry grabs him, tingling hands from having been raised for so long entwining in Fenrir's long hair, tugging fistfuls of it sharply before releasing him and tracing his hands down the strong neck and wide shoulders with shaking hands before he decides to just hold him. His head is hidden in the hallow of the joining of Fenrir's neck and shoulder and he wraps his legs around Fenrir's wider hips. There were many questions and theories on the dominant-submissive relationships that many creatures or sub-creatures submitted themselves to, and willingly at that to the shock of the wizards. It was no doubt a confusing concept for them, to submit yourself to another, or, equally, have someone submit themselves so completely to you. They couldn't understand that it had nothing to do with power or abuse or what they could gain from the relationship as an individual, but what they could do to protect and love and satisfy the one they had been gifted with as a mate. Harry supposed that must have been a hard concept to wrap your mind around for a race that indulged in one-night stands with strangers and who muddled through life in the aims of finding the best specimen to create offspring with and that could afford to keep them comfortable in old age.

It was nothing like that for wolves. They mated for life, to _one_ other. One life-mate.

Fenrir released his arms and kissed him, deep kisses that devoured him whole and caused him to cry out as Fenrir moved inside him with that same lovingly gentleness even as their pace quickened and fastened and hardened until Harry couldn't breathe again. _So long_. It had been so long and he'd missed him _so very much_.

–

When it was over they collapsed on the grass in a mess of limbs and bodily fluids, sticky and smelling faintly of the perspiration and sex that stuck to their skin, and panting as if they just run a bloody marathon. And, as lay there still entwined around each other Harry found no urge to remove himself from Fenrir's iron-clad grip that encircled his waist and refused to let go. It was, _comfortable_. Fenrir buried his face in sweaty his hair, told him that he loved him in that soft, rough whisper that couldn't possibly be lying and nodded off. But Harry lay in a drowsy haze long after Fenrir's loud snores had scared the remaining birds from the tress and caused a tired smile to light his face. Finally, Harry turned his head and looked down at him, his demon lover. His mate. His hand raised and moved a strand of Fenrir loose hair from his closed eyes with a soft brush of his fingers, his fingertips tracing the skin of Fenrir's sharp cheekbones, heavy eyelids and the disfigured curve of his nose before pausing and hovering just over the swollen red skin of his lips.

Nine years ago, he'd given him everything. He'd been just barely fourteen at the time but he was already willing to give Fenrir everything he was, to call _him_ home, wherever or whatever he was. But it hadn't been enough. "_...you bit me._"

* * *

And there's the promised slash scene, hope you enjoyed it and hope it was worth the wait! Humm. Last Note; thankyou to everyone who has read, reviewed, added to a community or added to their story alert etc. for this version of _Silent Moments_, it really does mean so much, so thankyou. And for those of you interested _Violent Desires_ is the sequel to this story.

Leave a review if you have time and tell me what you think.

Much love (_for the last time_): **Sketch**.


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